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Poem

To residents of Tarnow who perished or were forced into exile during WWII

I'm walking towards the palace.
Not long ago
a prince used to live there.
The sun is slowly climbing 
the blue, blue sky
while shreds of fog 
are slowly parting.
Yellow leaves hanging on
to the branches-
they know their time has come.
I pass an empty chapel.
It seems sad, unfulfilled,
like a heart longing for love.
Brandstaetter and his granddad
came here often. 
They talked about the scriptures
and perhaps also admired the autumn.
Are we really so different?
Don’t we all want to be loved, 
listen to the wind, the guitar
feel the warmth of the sun?
...
I'm going back to where my heart is.
Not everyone was able to make it home.
The rustling leaves bid me farewell,
Nordic walking sticks tap out the rhythm 
and the sun keeps climbing higher and higher

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