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Sanjana Konda Jun 12
Ominous clouds were seen overhead,
Acrid smoke lifted up the spirits of the dead.
Who am I? Anonymity plagues me.
I am just a number. I am A1753.

Remembering the green pastures near my house,
Papa playing the violin, Mama stitching a new blouse.
Anya and Inge running around wild,
I miss my sisters, I was such a happy child.

Stomp, Stomp, Stomp, what do I hear?
Let's quickly hide, the Aryans are near.
Imposing, arrogant, in the guise of the devil,
I scurried to the cellar to hide from this evil.

Their villainous hands dragged us to the cattle trucks,
Cramped and suffocating, we rolled around in the muck.
Came to a standstill at the dismal ghettos,
My idyllic life was now surrounded by foes.

Sachsenhausen, a concentration camp of woe and terrors,
They shaved my luscious hair, kicked me in the gut. What horrors!
Lined me up against the wall, starved me, broke my bones,
The walls were wailing with my miserable, pitiful moans.

It doesn't get better, it only gets worse.
These **** perpetrators, may they die from my curse.
Thrusted my sisters into the toxic gas chambers.
The screams just faded, all that was left was embers.

Father bribed a guard, risking his life.
Soldier shot him instantly, ending his life of strife.
Mother was sexually harassed and whipped.
Not long after, her dignity was stripped.

These atrocities had to stop. I had had enough.
An idea struck me, it was time to get tough.
I crept onto the supply truck, leaving the dismal camp,
On my way to freedom, my brow was furrowed and damp.

Reached the shores of Canada at last,
Fresh beginnings, I said goodbye to my past.
Worked as a nurse, acquired a new family.
Those dark clouds had vanished, I could now live happily.

Eighty-five years later, I stand at the place of my birth.
Conflicting emotions run through me, tears mixed with mirth.
As a Holocaust child, I relived the horrors of war.
My spirit was not broken, it continues to soar.
In the stillness of a teacup morning
in Amsterdam a crowd with yellow stars
query each other, a collapse of
suitcases and stuffed pillow cases
huddled under a gas lamp at a corner square,
while those in the stories above slowly turn away.

A few days before the yellow stars were
twenty-one children with backpacks
dreaming of a long field trip to Deventer.
The school picture they posed for would
be discovered fifty-four years later
under the frame of an oil painting
of the freedom monument in Dam Square.

Sieg, wandering in the fog of Bergen-Belsen
his classmates part of the mound
of George Rodgers well published frieze,
the only one of them not camera shy,
made it back to his mother and sister,
forever now a New York Jew.

Before them the square hosted
the frail bones of yellow star seniors,
their children depositing them
silently and hurriedly under
the hiss of the lamp shutting
off from the night watch.

Daan sewed the photo
of his yellow star grootmoeder
on a wooden chair staring into the sun
into  the lining of his jacket
and felt its pressure on the day
when the train arrived for him too.

The freight train to the Westbrook stockyard
the stench of manure, ****, fetid hay,
the old scent of cattle mingling with man,
fear embedded in every board,
was, as always, on time.
Where are the voices now?
Where are the people?
Where are the documentaries?

Now, when silent holocausts in Yemen, Uighur, Syria, Rohingya

Or are these things merely reserved for after their souls have been ripped from their bodies
Where are the human rights?
Where is humanity?

What is the world doing, donating charities and leading protests by the thousands, yet turning a blind eye on the worst forms of torture?
Just Why? Why is there NO way to help them out? Why is this allowed to even happen?
Alex Teng May 18
Gas chambers built by engineers,
Children poisoned by chemist,
Infants killed by nurses,
Innocents killed by soldier,
Education should train human,
To be more human.
maria k May 2
My gears have not been oiled for years
They are oiled with
the dry crusty blood that encases my body
Pain is my friend
Yet it is my enemy
For everywhere I look
I see myself in reflection
Everything I touch
is me in return

That’s who we are
Who cares about names
Names are too hard to say
Too hard to whisper
Too hard to even process in our minds
For we slowly melt away
Dig a hole in the dirt
And sleep
A long deep sleep
Yet I think
I think of the gateway to come in the future
A gateway that will free me
from my pain

I try to look at the camera
Yet light blinds my sensitive body
I crouch and bend
Too much for me
For I live in darkness
And this darkness abides in me

The numbers huddle,
The man says for us to look up
And I remember that when in front of a camera
A smile should appear
Yet my face becomes distorted
Wrinkles that crease my beaten face
hang deeply engraved
Like a stone
That’s my smile

Being here
I suffocate under the blanket of stench
That arises from under the
Torn sheets
And the camera man with one click
Captures our life
A life that will be lived for years to come
And by many others later
A life that is a cycle of suffering
As it slowly chokes me
Day by day
Night by night
As I wait
and hope
To disappear
may we remember those that died and suffered during the Holocaust
Ylzm Apr 24
The Jews searched long and hard
for signs of their Messiah's coming
but when he arrived as prophesied
they traded their King for a thief.

The Evangelicals love their bibles
Proud they see, for the Light has come
And not as Jews for they're true Israel,
Desirous as Eve, they hasten the Apocalypse.

The Evangelicals searched long and hard
for signs of their Messiah's return,
the lawless one arrived as prophesied
and they made him King.

If the Chosen suffered the Holocaust,
how can anyone escape chastisement too?
Abby Mar 8
The day the lights went dead
I was sitting at the kitchen table eating soup
The day the lights went dead
My Mama was just finishing dessert for my sisters 10th birthday
The day the lights went dead
My 7 year old brother was playing with the dog
The day the lights went dead
We were all talking and laughing with each other but then we heard it,
The sound of a gun, unmistakable
It was as if everything froze around us except for our minds
A few last seconds of complete peace and tranquility before the screams
Ah, yes, the screams were the worst part of it all
I can still hear them today
They filled the air like sirens of a people calling out to their God to save them
Even to this day I´m not sure He was listening
We were pulled out into the streets and forced into lines by our gender like we were just animals
Just Animals
I heard the person next to me start to mumble the first few lines of our prayer for ones final moments on this cruel earth,
“Shir la-ma-alos, eso aynai e-”
That was as far as he got before one of the guards heard and forced him from the line and shot him right in front of the rest of us
I later heard that he was meant to be made an example to show us not to fall out of line
I saw my little sister crying across from me
What I wouldn't do to go back in that moment and hug her and tell her I loved her, it would of been my last chance
I hate to admit it, but I to started to pray
Old habit I guess
A couple last hopeful words to send up to a God that I was starting to wonder if existed
Because if He did why would he let his chosen people be taken to the slaughter house and treated like nothing more than cattle?
After what felt like 15 hours in the hot sun we were forced onto even hotter buses where we would then be transported to Auschwitz, even though we didn’t know it then
When we arrived I took one glance up at the sky and saw the stars shining brighter than they ever had before
That was only the first night of what would become our miserable lives
That was a day I would remember forever
That was the day the lights went dead
I had to write this for a school project and I thought it was pretty decent. Definitely not my best but also not my worst so I thought that I would go ahead and post it here. I hope you enjoyed it.
ollie Feb 23
I haven’t looked at the stars the same way in quite some time
They were always above me in their shining hues
And I suppose the yellow stars are duller now in the fabric
But still above my own, nonetheless
Don’t we all wear the black and white stripes?
They mark us by crime and by prison number
But my pink triangle puts us beneath the yellow stars
They have marked us by faith and things beyond our control
They have marked us with our overlarge striped clothing
We are all prisoners
We are all prisoners
We are all prisoners
So why am I beneath the stars once again
In a place where it is considered a luxury to sit and stare at them
Even in war
Must I be considered beneath just another criminal
I used to find the stars beautiful
But that was before they all came in yellow
Reminding me that even when we are all persecuted
My people will always be on the ground
Staring up at all the others
As they take a rightful place among the stars
a poem about the holocaust i had to write for my english class. ended up having a lot more feelings about it than i thought. i’ve always had a lot of feelings about the holocaust but i didn’t think i’d enjoy writing the poem
Arianna Feb 13
"****** footprints stain the snow..."
Visited the memorial museum at Auschwitz, because... Well, honestly, I don't know why, except that I wanted to step a little into the world of this dark chapter of history, glimpse it for myself...

And you know how it goes: such places make you think. And after some deliberation on: the unique and VERY interesting perspective a loved one recently shared with me, how my own perspectives have mirrored his in relation to certain issues in my own home country, and personal reservations about what seems to be a tendency towards zero-sum thinking in many popular and influential news/media sources with which I am familiar, the thought struck me while walking over a snow-laden path in  Birkenau that Love is (at least in part) the overcoming of hatred...

Individually, culturally? Either way, I guess... It's a profoundly strange thing to exist.

For whatever those thoughts may or may not be worth.

Not sure now where I'm going with this, but if I ever figure it out, I'll fill it in...
suffering is a weaker bond,
unless the cause is collective,
instantaneous, immediate. what's
one frozen corpse to the millions
of hungry mouths?
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