Behind the Barbed Wire

Behind the barbed wire Behind the barbed wire a cherry tree blooms: bustling petals in the land of death. Behind the barbed wire a gradient runs between the scent of flowers and the omnipresent stench of burning flesh wafting from the crematory furnaces. And I wonder: if there are pillars of clouds by day and pillars of fire by night and loud cries and pleading prayers, then where is God ? Where, behind the barbed wire? Does he know about žthe walls of Treblinka and Osvetim? Does he know that Arbeit macht frei? Does he know about the Final Solution and forced labou and the horror of the Holocaust Trains? Is he, too, in the gas chambers gasping for breath? Is he, too, starving to death, wishing nothing more than something to eat? Is he, too, behind the barbed wire ? And I wonder: despite the machinery of brutal killing in staccatto of bullets, could they not kill humanity to the mass graves could they not bury hope Because cherry trees bloom even behind a barbed wire.