I was a clockwork doll that night,
 and I turned left and I turned right
 and when I fell and broke to bits,
 they recomposed my wax and wits.

 I was a proper doll once more,
 my manner carefully demure;
 and yet a doll of another kind
 an injured twig that tendrils bind.

 And when they asked me to a ball
 although my steps were rhythmical,
 they partnered me with dog and cat.

 My hair was gold, my eyes were blue.
 I wore a dress where flowers grew.
 Cherries blazed on my straw hat.

Translated by Robert Friend.

Dalia Rabikovitch was an Israeli poet who recently committed suicide at age
69. The above poem capture well the pressure to conform applied to each one of us by society (and even more so to females), and the continuing suspicious of society if you once fail to comply. And ever since I read this poem for the first time, every once in awhile, I feel like I am a “Clockwork doll”.

For more details on Dalia Ravikovitch, see
http://www.haaretzdaily.com/hasen/spages/615257.html.

— Sariel