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"seelen" poems
The footsteps come and he knows though his throat is dry as dust and his body ravaged he knows it is his turn eyes sunken and glazed give no hint that this is welcomed knowledge he clings to the energy of memories that somehow remain clear his life unfolds in thought the cry of his firstborn the warmth of his only love the footsteps come to a stop he wonders if this staunch, stone face of the soldier that now stands before him has ever known such love he is able to get to his feet and accepts no help he nods to the living corpses that remain vacant of hope awaiting their turn outside he manages to raise his eyes toward what little Sun finds its way through the dense cloud of humanity it seems to give him strength he mutters 'vergeben ihre seelen' as he makes his way towards the showers the soldier hears pauses for just a moment and continues on
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Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 12:03 PM UTC
RoyDeckard
The Final Walk at Auschwitz
The footsteps come and he knows though his throat is dry as dust and his body ravaged he knows it is his turn eyes sunken and glazed give no hint that this is welcomed knowledge he clings to the energy of memories that somehow remain clear his life unfolds in thought the cry of his firstborn the warmth of his only love the footsteps come to a stop he wonders if this staunch, stone face of the soldier that now stands before him has ever known such love he is able to get to his feet and accepts no help he nods to the living corpses that remain vacant of hope awaiting their turn outside he manages to raise his eyes toward what little Sun finds its way through the dense cloud of humanity it seems to give him strength he mutters 'vergeben ihre seelen' as he makes his way towards the showers the soldier hears pauses for just a moment and continues on
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[Please scroll down for an English translation.] Keine Hoffnung toter Träume: Ich dreh mich nicht mehr um mich selbst. Ich lebe zwischen Streichhölzern Und glaubte, mir gehört die Welt Warum soll ich die Wunden lecken, Die Zeichen meines Lebens sind? Ich denke oft an stille Post – Vielleicht hörst Du mir doch mal zu. Und abends geht die Sonne auf, Weil ich es will in meinem Traum. Antworten sind Gift für Seelen, Weil die Fragen sie erdrücken. Denkst Du oft an mich beim Schlafen? Ich weiß nicht, ob das wichtig ist. Ich bereue nur, Dich nie gefragt zu haben: Vermißt Du eigentlich Spanien? _____________________________________ ENGLISH TRANSLATION: No hope of dead dreams: I do not revolve about myself any longer. I live among matches And presumed the world belonged to me. Why should I lick the wounds That are marks of my life? I often think of Chinese whispers – Perhaps you will listen to me once. And in the evening, the sun rises Because I want it so in my dream. Answers are venomous to souls, Since questions stifle them. Do you think of me often in your sleep? I do not know whether it matters. I only regret never to have asked you: Do you ever miss Spain?
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Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 7:02 AM UTC
ich-bin-das-wort-ist-ich
Spanien (Spain)
[Please scroll down for an English translation.] Keine Hoffnung toter Träume: Ich dreh mich nicht mehr um mich selbst. Ich lebe zwischen Streichhölzern Und glaubte, mir gehört die Welt Warum soll ich die Wunden lecken, Die Zeichen meines Lebens sind? Ich denke oft an stille Post – Vielleicht hörst Du mir doch mal zu. Und abends geht die Sonne auf, Weil ich es will in meinem Traum. Antworten sind Gift für Seelen, Weil die Fragen sie erdrücken. Denkst Du oft an mich beim Schlafen? Ich weiß nicht, ob das wichtig ist. Ich bereue nur, Dich nie gefragt zu haben: Vermißt Du eigentlich Spanien? _____________________________________ ENGLISH TRANSLATION: No hope of dead dreams: I do not revolve about myself any longer. I live among matches And presumed the world belonged to me. Why should I lick the wounds That are marks of my life? I often think of Chinese whispers – Perhaps you will listen to me once. And in the evening, the sun rises Because I want it so in my dream. Answers are venomous to souls, Since questions stifle them. Do you think of me often in your sleep? I do not know whether it matters. I only regret never to have asked you: Do you ever miss Spain?
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