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Details | Holocaust Poem | |

A Girl From Darfur

I can show you where the brimstone sun has no remorse,
and where devils on horseback, have burned our homes, have pillaged our farms.
A killing spree,   the drum of guns, some tried to flee, but died,... each one.
The screams, I dream! Oh, the cries........the cries....... 
I try to mute the sound of them
For...,  I was there, I hid in fear,  was somehow spared, but now I look for 
something, ...something, ...something, here, ...someone to care.
A bit of food, a bit of shade, such bitter taste is in my mouth
A world of hate. To have no shoes,...a walking ghost.....
a blistered soul, I have no hope....  but nothing, nothing left. 
My eyes are blurred, and fires burn, a heavy world, shouts out despair.

Where are the flowers that used to bloom, where are voices, that once I knew?
There are no flowers here...just flies, in waist-deep dust, and a hot orange sun,
that coughs up sounds of fear and guns, and swords and words against my ears, I 
live in fear with no one here. 
I'm just a girl,  or at least I was....    for just a while.

I was defiled, when found by one
He spared my life, but did not see, I'd rather die than be this girl, who feels the 
shame in being free.
I once had a mother, I once had a father, I once had a brother who made me smile
Where did spirits, lift and go, when the devils on horseback came to kill? Spilling 
blood as if for fun?  For thrill? For what? 
Where were the Gods? Where are the ones who turn their heads?
In desert's dust with blood red crust.  They poisoned our wells, burned out our land, 
ravished and raped, and relished their brand......, 
nomads came, leaving shame, evil and horror came like rain.
 
Janjaweed, the name, I cannot say... I live with shame, a world, insane
I try to sleep, but I cannot........I can't forget and I am lost, the cost too much,
a swollen tongue and calloused feet,  across a land of bleached white bones
Alone, alone,....lost and done...a vanished heart......no one sees me  
There are no flowers, there are no trees, 
Famine as my lone companion, a pool of mud a home to stay,
Life drains out more every day, my belly swells....my eyes are parched,
and I can't tell
if I'm alive, or if I'm dead, dried up tears are what I shed....
Where are the flowers for my head? I've been scorned, 
all I have, and all I see is wind and rain, sorrow and pain
thorns, and dust, and a grave, that waits for me



__________________________________________________
Inspired By Cyndi's Challenge on Genocide 8/28/2014
Devils on Horseback – The Darfur genocide (ongoing) The Janjaweed (translated, 
devils on horseback) slaughter and rape the women, men and children of Darfur. As 
of today, 480,000 people have been “exterminated” and 2.8 million displaced.

Let's not turn our heads away from this, or from other atrocities being committed 
throughout the world.

Details | Holocaust Poem | |

Gypsies

We are the children
of the Four
A wandering race
The leaves, trees
and streams feed us
The earth, water and
winds sustain us
We belong to no man
A race so
complicated
You talk about us
with hushed voices
From behind your
hands
Always looking down
The idea of us so
precious

You don't deserve us
Never looking in our
eyes
As though the simple
mention of us will
bring you conflict
Our women so
beautiful
Seeing them leaves
the vision in your
head for days
So you look away
From our mystical,
regal creatures

As we are the
children of the
forests, rivers and
dessert
The snow in the
north
We have always been
We have always
existed
You gave us our name
It was never your
right
You called us
gypsies

You look at us and
see aluminium homes
Your curious eyes
scanning our sites
Picking up on the
old battered cars
Camp fires and dirt
Nomads fighting with
black eyes
Traveling through
these lands

You do not see our
beauty
As you are not
children of the air
A race so loyal like
thunder and lighting
Inside our homes
lives a love so vast
and thick
You can scoop it up
and eat it
It feels like candy
floss
Smells like Apple
blossom

We a deadly
protective race
Taught from years of
persecution
We learnt to only
live with our own
Wandering through
life 
Never having a home

When we burned, fire
was so angry
Our ash turned to
snow flakes
The wind was so
distraught
Our ash fluttered
over holy ground
Settled on the
barren
We grew a paradise
Earth was so hurt
you took her
children
For you paradise
will be forever out
of reach
Teasing you
Just before it's in
your grasp
The ocean washes it
away
Burning us made
water scream
You had killed the
children of the Four

We don't expect to
be understood
Our wisdom lays too
deep
The Nazis didn't
just kill and
persecute the Jewish
souls
They killed us too
Put your nose in the
air
Just so 
You can still smell
us on the wind

Details | Holocaust Poem | |

A Poet's Apocolypse


After that moment a gray dust covers all Invading the senses, casting a veil of despair The prince of darkness will have his due Oh cry ye fools, of this hell be you aware.... And what of the poets with blood on their pens Huddled in dark corners, trying to understand Making rhymes for only the night wind to read In the end a homage of heart to a beloved land.....

Details | Holocaust Poem | |

Nanjing

Nanjing

As willows weep along the walls
And fall mums start to bloom
The wind still echoes hallowed 
calls
From Nanking's souls of doom

With little food and daily raids
There was no safety zone
From genocide of men and 
maids
For none were left alone

Their butchered bodies 
everywhere 
Lay piled in ponds and roads
In bloody streets a river there
Flowed heavy 'neath the loads

This holocaust was filmed that 
day
Priest John Magee did plod
Now as his son he too could say
He "touched the face of God".

deborah burch
02.28.2013

Details | Holocaust Poem | |

Winds near Heschel's Grave

Stark winds blowing across the fields and streets 
The grave of that honorable rabbi is covered with leaves
Very difficult to live up to such piety 
But some grasp that the essence is what must be grasped 
    Instead of the "outer shell"
As I pick up a pen 
   to express myself 
I must tell you 
Fanaticism is not good - not good at all

Details | Holocaust Poem | |

Solomon Mahlangu: My Blood will Nourish the Tree that will Bear the Fruits of Freedom

(special thanks to a friend who shared this tribute to Solomon Mahlangu)



Solomon Mahlangu: My Blood will Nourish the Tree that will Bear the Fruits of Freedom:



Solomon Mahlangu was trained as an MK soldier with a view to later rejoining the struggle in the country.


He left South Africa after the Soweto Uprising of 1976 when he was 19 years old, and was later chosen to be part of an elite force to return to South Africa to carry out a mission commemorating the June 16th 1976 Soweto student uprising.


After entering South Africa through Swaziland and meeting his fellow comrades in Duduza, on the East Rand (east of Johannesburg), they were accosted by the police in Goch Street in Johannesburg.


In the ensuing gun battle two civilians were killed and two were injured, and Mahlangu and Motloung were captured while acting as decoys so that the other comrade could go and report to the MK leadership.


Motloung was brutally assaulted by the police to a point that he suffered brain damage and was unfit to stand trial, resulting in Mahlangu facing trial alone.


He was charged with two counts of murder and several charges under the Terrorism Act, to which he pleaded not guilty.


Though the judge accepted that Motloung was responsible for the killings, common purpose was argued and Mahlangu was found guilty on two counts of murder and other charges under the Terrorism Act.


On 15 June 1978 Solomon Mahlangu was refused leave to appeal his sentence by the Rand Supreme Court, and on 24 July 1978 he was refused again in the Bloemfontein Appeal Court.


Although various governments, the United Nations, International Organizations, groups and prominent individuals attempted to intercede on his behalf, Mahlangu awaited his execution in Pretoria Central Prison, and was hanged on 6 April 1979.


His hanging provoked international protest and condemnation of South Africa and Apartheid.


In fear of crowd reaction at the funeral the police decided to bury Mahlangu in Atteridgeville in Pretoria.


On 6 April 1993 he was re-interred at the Mamelodi Cemetery, where a plaque states his last words:


‘My blood will nourish the tree that will bear the fruits of freedom.

Tell my people that I love them.

They must continue the fight.’



Mahlangu died for a cause!



Salute!



The Struggle Continues…




(special thanks to a friend who shared this tribute to Solomon Mahlangu)

Details | Holocaust Poem | |

Not a Lie

not a Jewish lie
the Holocaust is for real
you can still hear screams

Details | Holocaust Poem | |

Lost Identity: View point of a slave

Why is my skin color different?
Did God make me this way?
When he made me, did he have
intentions on me being a slave?

And I thought we were all brothers,
including all the ones of different colors.

But why are they beating and hurting the others.
Someone save me, I didn't choose this life.
These scars, they've carved me with the sharpest
knives.

All I have is my faith.
Because if I'd held on to anything else
it'd be theres to take.

What is it that I ask for?
Equality, I preach.
Something small to you, 
but makes a difference
for me.

Whipping, spitting, hitting on me.
Raping our women in your wife's sheets.
Taking our children and turning them into workers.
No sense of empathy, grief or composer.

For the brotha' on my left and my sista' on the right,
with the courage that I hold I will continue to fight.
You have taken away my freedom, and most of my life.
But what you have failed to obtain is my state of mind.

Go ahead work my body, and do all that you please.
This is just a shell anyway, it's not coming with me.
You spit, you laugh, thinking you gained the world.
You think you have power because you've raped a young girl.

Stand tall sir with all of that pride.
And go ahead and hold it until the day that you die.
But your day will come when you'll fall to your knees.
Feeling the burn on your body from the whips you've given me.

"The LORD is my shelter,"
I continue to say.
While my soul goes up as God takes me away.
I wish you peace with smile on my face,
knowing that God teaches the fullness of grace.



Details | Holocaust Poem | |

Alive

I traveled the world
And though it is vast
I still need a truth
That would always last

Studied some books
And know my mind too
The whole time God knows
Only love will do

Studied Religion and 
Forever I found
Even God loves Love
On this I expound

My Mom in my life
Always there for me
Taught me that true love
Would there always be

Love doesn't judge man
And I'm very free
From color or type
Of good company

True love doesn't die
"Oh Love, you'll abound,"
Despite all the bad
You'll stand your ground

Love's the Law for me
We are always free
Love keeps me alive
This is Love's decree.

Details | Holocaust Poem | |

The Rotten

Analysis read—and wronged—and pulled
Lulled into our idealistic mess
Words no longer ours but hung distress
Farced in carnality—they are ruled

Soundness remains what we will believe 
And all else is but tethered nonsense
Clinched tightly in unfriendly absence
Overcome in overwrought relief

The judges judge on behalf of tongue
When ears and eyes close achingly tight
And perhaps in woe we find them right
For witches sought and bound must be hung!

Lower than the softened dirt that cures
Where worms in halves blindly come to eat
The higher crush with tormented feat
And the suns scorch what is left of hers

Answers never tried—and cured to hide
They look to superior sources
The rotten are the strongest forces
Ripened and toughened with bequeathed pride

-Iambic Tetrameter
Contest: Metrical verse
Sponsor: Giorgio Veneto
Laura Breidenthal

Details | Holocaust Poem | |

Leather Summit

A mountain of shoes,
Tower the valley of clothes:
Holocaust landscape.



___________________________
Inspired by the Auschwitz Shoes

Details | Holocaust Poem | |

Southern Love Southern hate

Southern love,  Southern hate 
they are the opposite of each other 
 I have  memories of both in the State I love dearly.

Going back to a old plantation home in the South ,
as a child I played in the many Pecan trees , collecting baskets upon baskets of fresh pecans .

the smell of fresh pies , of pecan and rhubarb , oh my Mom took the prize .

One afternoon , School was out , it was in summer  , reminisce of fresh lemonade 
My Mother called my name 'child come in here now " in the middle of the day ' 
she many times called and I would hide in this paradise full of honeysuckle and pecans .

This time the tone was one of fear , and alert , "come inside Now"
 I ran to the top of the old plantation stairs to my Mother .
I saw in the distance what seemed to be a parade in the day .

This time the parade was of people in "white sheets ' going door to door,
just like salesman they would knock , they would greet .
my Mother said " We have no time for this here " leave now , and leave fast. yours is only teachings of Discriminate .

she sent them quickly away , giving back the paper , the invite 
These people dressed in funny white  sheets .  
only later I discovered what this was about 
Your Parents do their very best , to keep any Evil out .

These people are not just from the South , they are all over the World 
Leaving me that day with no doubt . Make the choice you have , we all do
Remember Gods Children are innocent , and many a color , they could be Blue ~

Details | Holocaust Poem | |

The Infamous Scottish Muse

The time has come your passing has happened 
Your desire to live was never dampened 
The great Scottish debate for you to stay or go
I screamed yes, but the haggis of your heart said no 

The split of our nation represents the split in my heart
But now the time has come and we must part
Much like our dreams of reaching the sixth form debate final

“Page 32” you crowbarred into conversation
infuriating Ash to the point of self-immolation
your self important boasts of superior knowledge 
turned my my weakened soul into watery porridge 

You were not a stereotype, despite what many said
Unlike most Scots, you ate more than simply fried bread
Your challenge with crackers so lascivious  that I lost my thread
And since then I yearned for a way to do more than simple observe your bed

But your aggression was endearing, cutting and clear
Tearing opponents to shreds, speaking to all that will hear
But I was behind a glass wall, simply shedding a tear
As a limp invitation to a party was the closest I could near

I sit here now and remember our lark
Our time together, characterized by a battle with a shark
The verbal brutality was shocking that situation was stark
But your retorts were quick witted, but often loaded with snark

This took so long to write as my heart still bares scars
An open mouth like yours could give hour long seminars
Yet you still saved me from being bundled into one of Bennet’s cars
Yet I must hope that we meet again, underneath heaven’s stars 

Details | Holocaust Poem | |

SMOKESTACKS OF AUSCHWITZ

     THE SMOKESTACKS OF AUSCHWITZ
A trail of smoke fades to an autumn dawn,
as sounds of morning break unearthly still,
arising to the day, some life goes on,
while others have the fear it never will.

Some ashes drift about the morning air,
appearing as do snowflakes in a stall,
to restless breezes they drift everywhere
and they are spread about before they fall.

Each life that was, is slow in pure descent,
and longing for the earth turning below,
the mother of all life, where time is spent,
until time's all run out--it's time to go.

Down in the valley echoes from a train,
awhistling, here come the dead again.
© ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet

Details | Holocaust Poem | |

The number the brand

When I met her , a very old lady she was , yet inside lay a frightened child .
I felt my heart cry , I felt as if I was touching history itself , as I made this older lady, child,  chai .

I remember the day , and so many tears I have cried
I have cried before she and I met 
As a child , so many tears, left confused inside .

Not understanding Why , and how could we stand by and live our lives as if this never happened ?

It happened , we are left in dismay of the movies seen the accounts taken of History 
My self ..I have caught stereotyping the very people whom did this to she , the rest of her Family erased .


The white candles we light , we try and forgive , or just simply block this pain out completely.

It occurs , over and over , as it has been said History will repeat .
When thinking of my children , when I think of that little girl losing ,  cold and scarred , feeling only defeat .

There is a lesson here and I pray , that all whom have been taken from life , have no pain and are gifted spirits throughout eternity . May they be warmed with love,  and reunited with the ones they lost .

The first time I met her , her old hand I took and warmed it with mine , I held it for a long time . 
You could not,  but notice ..the Evil imprinted on skin , the Evil only to remind.
This very old Soul , in her eyes you could see . 
The child that once lived , so innocently free, not aware yet,  of the Hostility .

I speak of a Little girl, I speak of a old woman , I speak of a Jewish,  chosen Religion.

There as I held her frail , old hand  , a brand , a number stamped in Evil a long time ago .   In 1945  , once in our distant, yet Frightening  past . 

We should never forget , never forget it happened , never forget all the names .
If we do , we have learned nothing , A World living in Shame .
                                " Etta Babooshka Kofman  "

Details | Holocaust Poem | |

A Story My Mother Told Me

someone always told me this with tears in her eyes...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


a wife left South Africa in the 1960’s to join her husband 
who was in exile at the time...

in 1970 the husband was sent by the African National Congress to India to be its representative there...

the husband and wife spent two years in Bombay...

one afternoon the husband fell and broke his leg...

the wife knocked on their neighbour’s door, in an apartment complex in Bombay

the neighbour was an old Punjabi lady...

the wife asked the neighbour for a doctor to see to the injured husband...

a Parsi ‘Bone-Setter’ was promptly summoned...

the husband still recalls his anxiety of seeing ‘Bone-Setter’ written on the Parsi gentleman’s bag...

by the way, the ‘Bone-Setter’ worked his ancient craft and surprisingly for the husband, his broken leg healed quite soon...

but still on that day, while the ‘Bone-Setter’ was seeing to the husband...

the wife and the old Punjabi lady from next door got to talking about this and that and where these new Indian-looking wife and husband were from as their accents were clearly not local...

the wife told the elderly Punjabi lady that the husband worked for the African National Congress of South Africa and had left to serve the ANC from exile...

and that they had left their two children behind in South Africa and that they were now essentially political refugees...

the Punjabi lady broke down and wept uncontrollably...

she told the foreign woman that she too had had to leave her home in Lahore in 1947 and flee to India with only the clothes on her back when the partition of the subcontinent took place and Pakistan was formed and at a time when Hindus from Pakistan fled to India and vice versa...

the Punjabi lady then asked the foreign woman her name...

‘Zubeida’, but you can call me ‘Zubie’...

the Punjabi woman hugged Zubie some more, and the two women, seperated by age and geography, wept, sharing a shared pain...

the Punjabi woman told Zubie that she was her ‘sister’ from that day on, and that she felt that pain of exile and forced migration and what being a refugee felt like...

Zubie and her husband Mosie became the closest of friends with the Hindu Punjabi neighbours who were kicked out of Pakistan by Muslims...

then came the time for Mosie and Zubie to leave for Delhi where the African National Congress office was based...

the elderly Punjabi lady and Mosie and Zubie said their goodbyes...

a year or two later, the elderly Punjabi lady’s daughter Lata married Ravi Sethi and the couple moved to Delhi...

the elderly Punjabi lady called Zubie and told her that her daughter was coming to Delhi to live and that she had told Lata, her daughter that she had a ‘sister’ in Delhi...

Lata and Ravi Sethi then moved to Delhi...

This was in the mid-1970’s...

Lata and Zubie became the closest of friends and that bond stayed true, and stays true till today, though Zubie is no more, and the elderly Punjabi lady is no more...

the son and the husband still have a bond with Lata and Ravi Sethi...

a bond that was forged between Hindu and Muslim and between two continents across the barriers of creed and time...

a bond strong and resilient, forged by the pain and trauma of a shared experience...

and that is why, and I shall never stop believing this, that hope shines still, for with all the talk of this and of that, and of that and of this, there will always be a simple woman, somewhere, anywhere, who would take the ‘other’ in as a sister, a fellow human...

and that is why there will always be hope...
hope in the midst of this and of that and of that and of this...

hope...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)

Details | Holocaust Poem | |

Our Invincible Defeat

The inner and the outer,
Are dissolving fast in space.
The ominous clouds of thunder,
Are covering your face.

The meek the mild and innocent,
Are trampled under feet,
As we go one marching blindly,
To our invincible defeat.

No more calling softly,
No more calling you,
We've lost our hope and loving,
What once we thought was true.

And now the choice is coming,
Riding on a wave,
To be a free man dying,
Or be a mad man's slave.

And now the drums are drumming,
Drumming down the line,
Will you be marching forwards?
Will you be deaf and blind?

Will the light of sacred meaning?
Shine from bottom of your heart?
As the soldiers go on marching,
Tearing our humanity apart.

more at http://labyrinthoflies.com

Details | Holocaust Poem | |

THE LAST STAND

THE LAST STAND

Where have all my people gone, the Navaho, Lakota, and the Sue.
Smothered beneath the white man blanket,
Chocking for a breath of airs life's sustaining oxygen.
The beating heart of native drums, are stilled frozen,
In the middle of it's rhythmic thumping, no pulses echo,
Can be heard on the open plain.
The weeping women kneel on sacred ground, shedding
A river of bloods tears, burning a permanent scare across,
A baron landscape.
Death's black raven shields itself, under it's crimson soaked wing,
Against shames immoral injustice. 
Greed's unsatisfiable hunger for land and riches fuels lusts desire,
Behold exterminations nay holocaust of the native inhabitance,
  Nothing remains alive except ignorance blackened shadow.
How much blood can mother earth be forced to drink before,
She drowns herself or spits up everything undigested,
 With sheer disdain and hatreds malice intent.
On a black and white chess board the winners takes it all,
Strategies grand masters playing with living pawns.
Treaties written in vanishing ink, promises disappear in thin air,
 Revealing a liars sharpened tongue.
The odds have always been stacked against those believing in fairness.
A rogue tidal wave of humanity has wiped out a nation,
And it's culture within the blink of an eye.
Flights appendages are clipped on the dove of peace, leaving it
Unable to soar above it's own habitat.
Wreckage’s refugees stumble in the ruins after math,
Rapes victims of civilizations civilized,
Are left devoid of their heritages lineage and legacy.
Elders chieftains representatives of a great nation,
Smoke peace pipes in the white mans hunting lodge
In Washington.
As human beings are hauled like cattle's cargo,
Taken to reservations burial grounds. 
Ancient ancestors lit up the heaven's vast expanse,
 By torches flame,
To guide the souls of the dead unto their great spiritual
 Plain beyond.
The pale horse gallops forward without a rider,
And the red people become a phantom tribe vanishing
 Upon the winds shifting tides.
Giving one last final trible battle war cry, 
Why my father but the great spirit answers not.
Behold America's legacy, a world trampled beneath
It's heavy iron fist, all in the name of progress or for the cause
Of Manifest destiny.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Details | Holocaust Poem | |

Never Forget

Never Forget 

Oh thou of wretched heart and deed
Inferior our seeds?
When thus thou felt the need to rule
Annihilate deemed weeds

Thou casteth out your wicked net
Of guns and war bent twine
No bulwark for the Jews was found   
Declaring heads decline

Compliant soldiers marched the streets
For ducats hedged your bet
With waving flags and Hail Hitler’s
Obliging hands were met

Whilst cyanide was gassings Jews
Obedience decreed  
In bunkers hid you reigned your realm
Coward of plotted deeds

When one man tries to rid the world
Of an imagined foe
Mankind will raise its voice as one
He’ll reap what he did sow


Completed on 2/4/12
All rights reserved by Debra Squyres @ 2013

My fist attempt with a Quatrain…..this a modified quatrain as per specified by the rules of the members contest: Historical Modified Quatrain
1st and 3rd lines eight iambic syllables
2nd and 4th lines 6 iambic syllables

Details | Holocaust Poem | |

FOURTH HORSEMAN DESCENDS




In one quick flash, while humankind rests
poisoned rain devours, seething like burnt fume...
that all the world like raged Babylon screams

when Fourth Horseman, on a knifed eve, descends
shrouded by darkness, rider now earthbound
collapsing stars and trees on ghastly stead,

lungs haemorrhage in terror of night’s tide
found in Revelations once prophesized...
hoofs trample burnt flesh , spiked by death’s revenge

a time destined...a  quest for greedy blood
that in roar of voices,  church bells freeze tolls.
Divine One looks at His creatures, pleas from souls;


Mad horseman gallops away as Light spins
unto earth,  promise of fresh beginnings.



Apocalypse Rising Contest of Poetess Darkly




Details | Holocaust Poem | |

The Women



The Women



(for the countless women, names unknown, who bore the brunt of Apartheid, and who fought the racist system at great cost to themselves and their families, and for my mother, Zubeida Moolla)



Pregnant, your husband on the run,
your daughter, a child, a few years old,

they hauled you in, these brutish men,
into the bowels of Apartheid's racist hell.



They wanted information, you gave them nothing,
these savage men, who skin happened to be lighter,

and white was right in South Africa back then,

but, you did not cower, you stood resolute,

you, my mother, faced them down, their power,
their 'racial superiority', their taunts, their threats.



You, my mother, would not, could not break,

You stood firm, you stood tall.

You, like the countless mothers did not break, did not fall.



You told me many things, of the pains, the struggles,

the scraping for scraps, the desolation of separation
from your beloved Tasneem and your beloved Azad,

my elder sister and brother, whom I could not grow
up with, your beloved children separated by time, by place,

by monstrous Apartheid, by brutish men,
whose skin just happened to be lighter.



You told me many things, as I grew older,
of the years in exile, of the winters that grew ever colder.

You were a fighter, for a just cause,
like countless other South African women,

you sacrificed much, you suffered the pangs,
of memories that cut into your bone, your marrow,

you resisted a system, an ideology, brutal and callous and narrow.



Yes, you lived to see freedom arrive, yet you suffered still,
a family torn apart, and struggling to rebuild a life,

all the while, nursing a void, that nothing could ever fill.



I salute you, mother, as I salute the nameless mothers,

the countless sisters, daughters, women of this land,
who fought, sacrificing it all for taking a moral stand.



I salute you, my mother, and though you have passed,
your body interred in your beloved South African soil,

you shall remain, within me, an ever-present reminder,

of the cost of freedom, the struggles, the hunger, the toil.


I salute you!



(for the brave women of South Africa, of all colours,
who fought against racial discrimination and Apartheid)






Details | Holocaust Poem | |

Freedom

I am a Jewish boy 
I wonder if I will ever survive 
I hear people screaming and crying 
I see skinny people with shaved 
heads 
I want to see my family 
I am a Jewish boy 
I pretend to smile 
I feel very scared 
I touch something that feels like a 
rock 
I worry if I will ever survive 
I cry when I see dead bodies 
I am a Jewish boy 
I understand someone ought to die 
I say people will survive and 
freedom will come 
I dream that I will survive this 
catastrophic event 
I try to save other people 
I hope for freedom 
I am a Jewish boy

Details | Holocaust Poem | |

Why ( a holocaust poem)

I wake up in the morning
and the pain begins,
Starvation, beatings, disease
when will it ever end...

There is blood on my elbows
and blood on my knees,
my clothes are torn
I just want to be free...

I am what I am
I guess thats why I'm here,
I've been here three months
And I'm numb with fear...

I pray to God
and ask him why,
what did I do
to deserve to die...

Cody Lee

Details | Holocaust Poem | |

A Name says it All

some nmes like Hitler
Charles Manson are terror
Jesus Christ is not

Details | Holocaust Poem | |

Come Out and Play

Cigars left aside
Muddied floors
The rain isn't stopping
The thunder roars

A creaking door
The windows are open
Shadows rise
Then glasses were broken

Hello there
Would you come out and play
As the children stare
Ready to slay
You run and run
The fun has just begun
The moment you'll hold still
You'd feel a chill
The moment you turn back
The moment you'll die
Tripping, a branch of a tree
Children's faces with glee
You shout and cry
Asking the reason why

As you wake up from this bad dream
You'd realize you're in bed
You'd just hurt your head
Drink a pill
Think slowly
Think still
Someone might enter
Yes a child will
Asking you
Would you come out and play?

5/24/13

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