I wrote this poem on my return from Auschwitz. It's my attempt to visulise what I must have been to stand, hepless, with your life in evil, godless hands...
The smoke swirls from the chimneys,
The feet drag across the gravel.
A Mother’s cry falls deadly silent:
As towards Man’s hell they travel.
Lines of grieving stripes, align.
The punishers heart, as hard as stone.
Each soul called a faceless number
Stands unprotected, godless and alone.
No matter what is written,
Or meaningful words that are spoke.
Can fix your weeping, breaking heart:
Rolling from the chimneys, the smoke...