Sunday, November 14, 2004

A Survivor's Tale in 34 lines

I do not wake up to the morning
Neither in the morning
I'm precluded from sleep
I rather awaken her,
I've returned to the days of Belsen,
My grandmother, my uncles,
I think of everyone
As I probably never left from there.
It's still an only one day for me,
Since the tale, since you are brave
I no longer ponder about me
I can only see myself behind wires.
In my diaries no more I write,
No words for the fatum of man I have,
But you're still alive
That always makes me smile.

There's no coffee this morning,
Because there was no sleep,
When the dew hasn't poured here....
Why would we waste our tears?
There was no bed, there was no self
Books in a shelf, myself a trend
Remember your name?
I, not other than myself
Into blank pages we turned
We no longer sleep
Tears are never shed
They preclude our existence
Behind a bar, or many bars
Urbanity in the fall
Insanity for all
Words of love before mourning
We still wait for a next morning.

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