Holocaust.
Iron pipes that pierce the skyline.
Concrete, white against the blue.
Office blocks, now cold and empty,
No sun-streaked glass to mar the view.
Empty eyes that gaze unseeing
On a vista stark and bare.
No dogs to foul the empty pavements.
No birdsong on the morning air.
In an alley filled with rubble,
A rust encrusted laundry van,
Filled with shrouds, no longer needed
By the creatures they called man.
But hope is born, for time must pass.
In reformed tarmac, a blade of grass.
I hope you will permit me to say this is a poem you should be proud of. Your ryming couplets alternate iambic and trochee - a very fine device. Not a single phrase in the work refers to mass execution camps yet from the first verse I knew what the topic was - I can only assume watching those tv footage 10 years ago of blown out windows in concrete towers and empty desolate concrete has conditioned me to relate to the abtuse metaphors you use. Keep writing!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I could see the smoke stack in this poem and the last line was a stunner, thanks for sharing regards uavanice1