Auschwitz

So cold and gloomy is the camp,
The steel of its ovens,
The cement of its death chambers,
Tell us so many bitter-sad stories,
Nearby, there are the fields,
And my eye wanders
Over the bright flowers,
And life goes on as if
Nothing had happened,
But one cannot forget,
The wind rustles in the trees
With a thousand voices
Which call us from a quiet present
Into a horrible past,
They say: "Please, remember us,
Hear our lament,
Do not forget us,
Women, men, children,
The dead from Auschwitz."

The sun, so warmly it shines,
So fragrantly bloom the flowers,
But the wind, the wind
Touches my very soul
Like an icy hand........

Alfred Charasz
Copyright 2005 Alfred Charasz