Yad Vashem is the Jewish Holocaust Museum in Jerusalem
Bantering, full of boyish bravado
they entered like pups let off the leash.
The mountain of broken boots and shoes
stopped them in their trainered tracks.
Their survivor guide, used to harsher inquisition
answered them directly.
‘Do you hate them now? ’
‘No son, they are not the ones who played football with bundles of babies’ bootees.’
What’s that number tattooed on your wrist? ’
‘My bar code, ready for check out.’
At thirteen not too old to cry
old enough not to want to be seen to.
They left no longer children.
It must have been the sun that made them look like owls
forced to face the day.
Blinking, blinking, blinking.
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Comments about this poem (Yad Vashem by Dale Harvey )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
Harivansh Rai Bachchan
(27 November 1907 – 18 January 2003)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(20 June 1952 -)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(27 March 1926 – 25 July 1966)
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