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A sweet little child with a cute, pearly crackling underneath its forehead,
Once at an hour of loneliness,
Called out to the world of spirits,
Inviting to temporarily set up camp
Within the realms of its own mind,
The mind of a late one's from among the names of theirs
In the books, of one already
Stowed away for good, history's part of men,
Dead hard up against being forgotten, one,
Rendered by inevitably long and longer time and times
Eventually another gone-by soul,
Gone already for more than three generations before the child's,
The poor fellow's mind character vehicle, thus said the simple child's mind,
Being ultimately left without means to voice itself anymore,
Unlike then when it still had possessed its erstwhile chassis, the person's frame,
And it had had its driver seat, where the person's head sat and spoke,
Where the defined ego had a one-time steady seat:
'Hey, you, loitering spirit under nude star light,
In your vain cosmic wake out there,
There in the Cool of naked universe,
You bald, cold, clean shaven astral face nudity of an entity there, staying put,
A dead one yet to come alive again,
Without even as much as a mouth-piece for yourself,
Come, come, come into me,
Take up your abode for a while within me,
So that I may talk to you,
And you may talk to one, like a human to a human, once again.'
'But first it is I, who have something to point out to you, dear soul.
So please, listen up! '
'From our birthyears to judge, from mine, the year of 1957,
From yours, which is 1836,
As also to judge, on your part, from your death year,1911,
It may be said that
Both of us have one thing in common:
Neither you, nor I, due to a more lucky timing with our respective births,
Have come to experience the pangs and horrors of WWII.'
(The child being a German, and the invited mind guest a Jew)
'But one thing more, ' spoke the sweet little child:
While you, because your time on earth was over, yet
Before things were staged, talking about the war,
Had never, while alive, come to get the slightest notion of
What was yet to happen after you,
I am the luckier one of us two,
Since it is I, who was lucky enough to have been born,
Way after those days of Satan's travesty of human evil
And its trammels of human life,
But who have had the chance,
By the fact, that such things as WWII did have occurred,
To learn lessons from history
And to therefore be able to write educative poems,
On a lesson, which you, dear soul,
Have not had taken.'
Now, while that poor dead man's soul,
Who had followed
The sweet little child's invitation
To temporarily take up abode within the child's mind,
Was about to reply:
'Well, I, on the other hand, would consider it rather as
My advantage over yours, with regards to our birthyears,
That I had not come to live in such times
Where people heard of cruelties of
The dimension as in your so-called WWII',
It was at that very instant,
At the time when the soul gone for long,
Heaved up a sigh before starting to
Speak up through the mouth of the child, that
A great heavenly holly-pomp-a-loo
Was raised up there on the stage of the spectral cosmic mind theatre,
All of a sudden in both wings,
Left and right of the grand astral stage,
6'594'631 tongues sticking out from souls-in-cosmic-wake of former Jews,
Bonding all together at the same time,
For an enormously grand display of elephantine booing in discontent
Over their all-out sad fate in WWII,
Making such a hell of a noise,
That only the devil himself could excel in it.
For once the sweet little child's inter-mind-state connectivity, indeed,
Had been badly interrupted, with the invited
Soul rushing back, fast, fast, to
Its old, cold cosmic wake,
One call from earth having been
Timed-out on an all too bad reminder.
* Dedicated to Oskar Schindler who had saved from the ghettos of WWII 1'300 Jews, and to Irena Sendler who, as a nurse for epidemic cases having had unobstructed passage into the 19 kms long, high walled Warsaw ghetto, that contained until 1942 400'000 Jews before deportation to their final concentration camps, was able to save the lives of 2'500 Jewish children, by resorting to all kinds of different tricks so as to deceive the relentless Gestapo guards. *
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
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