Behind Barbed Wire Poem by Vera Dike

Behind barbed wire

Behind the barbed wire a cherry tree blooms:
bustling petals in the land of death.
Behind the barbed wire a gradient runs
between the scent of flowers
and the omnipresent stench
of burning flesh
wafting from the crematory furnaces.

And I wonder:
if there are pillars of clouds by day
and pillars of fire by night
and loud cries
and pleading prayers,
then where is God?
Where, behind the barbed wire?

Does he know about the walls
of Treblinka and Osvetim?
Does he know that Arbeit macht frei?
Does he know about the Final Solution
and forced labour
and the horror of the Holocaust Trains?
Is he, too, in the gas chambers
gasping for breath?
Is he, too, starving to death,
wishing nothing more
than something to eat?
Is he, too, behind the barbed wire?

And I wonder:
despite the machinery of brutal killing
in staccato of bullets,
could they not kill humanity
to the mass graves
could they not bury hope
Because cherry trees bloom
even behind a barbed wire.