They stumbled over each other
to reach the only exit
from the dark and putrid room.
Here they had been confined
since the Nazis
rounded them up
like sheep.
There were no means of escape
but oblivious of the gas chamber,
they tried anyway.
Each one squeezing
through the battened door
like toothpaste.
Decades later
we can still hear
the ghosts wailing:
No reprieve!
Justice now!
Buxton: It's good but getting serious and yet the caring still comes through. Try mine - Memory is a Cheating Thing. Adeline
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
although i see the imagery, not sure though of the connotative meaning... but anyway, will rate it 8 out of 10... keep it up in poetry!