Majdanek - poem by Rosette Goldstein
Społeczność żydowska przed 1989 – Teksty kultury
Polska / lubelskie
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MAJDANEK
Rosettte Goldstein
The grass is green.
the wild flowers poke their heads
through the spring thaw.
The Hair, The Braids have turned
Grey with the Years.
The Suitcases are piled up to go nowhere, with the names
Cohen, Goldstein, Adler, Pomeranz, Shonek who are no more.....
One barrack reserved for the thousands upon thousands of shoes faded with time.
One solitary red shoe fighting to keep its color
Fighting to let us know, I belonged to someone,
I will not forget or let you forget.
Take a deep breath, you can still smell the smoke....
Open your eyes, you can see the ashes of my owner.
Who was she?
Who could she have been, a doctor? a scientist?
Someone who could have given so much to the world
a human being!
Those flowers growing on this blood soaked
schorched piece of earth
This hell - How dare they bloom!
Perhaps, just perhaps I can look
upon them as the souls of those
who perished here,
or perhaps they are there to remind us that their beauty and their fragility can be trampled
in the blink of an eye and that the horror can be started once again!
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