There are no birds around
There are walls of stone
Hewn by inmates.
There is no birdsong
There are no green fields
But split dust and stone
There are no colours of
Spring or the seasons
Only one colour is present
That of grey.
There’s no human aura
But the stillness of desolation
And the stench of violent
Death.
There’s no sweet air
But the cold wind of death
That curls your hair and
Creeps down your spine.
There’s sadness and tears
For the thousands
Whose life were sucked-out
Of their emaciated bodies.
But there’s joy in the present
Spirit of survivors
The righteous people
And the emerging youth
Celebrating life
Defying the master-thugs
Of the Schoah:
MAUTHAUSEN.NESUAHTUAM
zoltanzelan
ZJG-POetry’18.