Still, love persists
in the voice of a man who walks through fire to light a candle
And yet, love breathes in poisoned air
Though boots came down, though no one cared.
Behind the fence, under red and black skies:
I loved. I hoped. I paid the price.
Carve this truth on prison walls
In pink triangles, on nameless halls.
They called us shame, they turned their heads
But love lived on in whispered beds.
In Auschwitz dark, we met in fear,
A glance, a touch, the world not near.
In cold barracks, through iron and ice,
Love was the crime, but worth the price.
Let leaders preach, let papers lie
No one can chain the need to try.
For even in cells, hearts still ignite,
And love can bloom with no light.
I stood by the tracks where silence grew,
And begged the sky: “If you are true,
Then show me now, with all your might—
No love should hide. No love should fight.”
So mark this pain in stained glass red,
In churches that prayed while we were dead.
And if I fall, unknown, unnamed
Let the world say: He loved. Unashamed.
And yet, love stays. It does not flee.
It walks through fire. It dies free.
In Warsaw, Berlin, and Moscow stone:
I loved him. I dared. I was never alone.
By the Homomonument, under the night,
I lit a candle. I claimed my right.
And whispered soft for all to hear:
No love should die in hate or fear.
And yet, we rose from camp and cage
With broken backs, we held our rage.
And still today, our truth is flame
We loved. We lived. Without shame.
And yet, love persists. It cuts through the dark.
It names the lost. It leaves a mark.
In Amsterdam’s breath, I speak like stone:
I loved you. I dared. I was never alone.
Copyright ©
Florin Lacatus
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