pezenfuego
Active Member
The heaviest wheel rolls across our foreheads
To bury itself deep somewhere inside our memories.
We've suffered here more than enough,
Here is this clot of grief and shame,
Wanting a badge of blindness
To be a proof for their own children.
A fourth year of waiting, like standing above a swamp
From which any moment might gush forth a spring.
Meanwhile, the rivers flow another way,
Another way,
Not letting you die, not letting you live.
And the cannons don't scream and the guns don't bark
And you don't see blood here.
Nothing, only silent hunger.
Children steal the bread here and ask and ask and ask
And all would wish to sleep, keep silent, and just to go to sleep again...
The heaviest wheel rolls across our foreheads
To bury itself deep somewhere in our memories.
Mif 1944
I found this book of poems in the library. This poem is from an individual that lived in a Ghetto during the Holocaust. I liked it and thought that I should share it.
To bury itself deep somewhere inside our memories.
We've suffered here more than enough,
Here is this clot of grief and shame,
Wanting a badge of blindness
To be a proof for their own children.
A fourth year of waiting, like standing above a swamp
From which any moment might gush forth a spring.
Meanwhile, the rivers flow another way,
Another way,
Not letting you die, not letting you live.
And the cannons don't scream and the guns don't bark
And you don't see blood here.
Nothing, only silent hunger.
Children steal the bread here and ask and ask and ask
And all would wish to sleep, keep silent, and just to go to sleep again...
The heaviest wheel rolls across our foreheads
To bury itself deep somewhere in our memories.
Mif 1944
I found this book of poems in the library. This poem is from an individual that lived in a Ghetto during the Holocaust. I liked it and thought that I should share it.
