Blood dripping from the pages of history books,
wartime pictures, dried bones, graveyard stones,
torture weapons, historic memorial sites
echoing the atrocities which occurred at Auschwitz.
Any poems that capture the glimmers and whispers
of a rainbow in another season
will appear naive, escapist, barbaric...
But please listen.Please listen closely, more closely.
They were humming, reciting, singing poetry
when they walked into the shadows...
'The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not be in want... '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem