Freedom Of Death (Holocaust) Poem by Saumya xoxo

Here was where he stood.
Glared at the words on the gate.
'Arbeit Macht Frei'
Work Sets You Free.
Oh, the cruel irony!

A ten-year-old.
How was he to survive?

Then he was shoved inside.
Day or night, all the same.
Loved ones burnt in front of him.
When does it end?
Will it ever end?

Vivid memories hammered,
like a nail in his mind.
Sleeps and he sees the anguished faces.
Blinks and he hears the screams.
Cries and he gets shunned.

A young soul he sure was.
But he was not naïve.
He knew what freedom meant
This was no freedom.

Left to starve with gnawing hunger,
was no freedom.
Beaten like filthy dogs,
was no freedom.
Being gassed in a cage,
was no freedom.

Few weeks in, he stood -
Boney and skinny;
Eyes hollow;
Bundled in sweaty rags;
Scarred for life;
Albeit his heart still beats.

A ten-year-old.
Why survive?

Albeit, bits of hope lingered in him.
They might strut with arrogance,
but later they shall squirm in shame.
And then when they apologise,
Those will stand next to none.

But for now,
Where was god?
Could he not hear the screams?
Could he not see the scars?
The tears? The blood? The ashes?

Though there did stand a sense of freedom,
the sweet, old freedom of death.
Oh, the peace in death!

- Saumya <3