Tears, by Sarah Pozzuto

This is the poem that I read this morning. Even though it is nearly two years old, it is never too late to change it. SO...comments, suggestions, whatever.

Waiting for non-existing freedom.
Trying to find hope within misery.
Suffering, pain, sadness.
Hurt because of my faith.
Hungry...cold...
Will this ever end?
It seems as though my prayers will forever be
Unanswered.
It feels like I am dead
And it is torture to be alive still.

Questions racing through my head.
Swirling through and empty nothingness
Because I am too weak to think
Properly.
Why me?
Shall I ever again go home?
Home to the house that was mine
Painted pale blue
With flowers smiling in the windowpanes
And fresh green grass covering the lawn.
There is probably a new family there,
A family that is not Jewish.
My family and I lived in that house.
Centuries ago, it seems.

Family. I hardly remember them.
Just bits and pieces,
Pieces of a puzzle that will never again
Be complete.
Mother's voice, father's laugh,
The light curly hair of a brother.
He was only two. I miss him most of all.
His sweet little face,
Pleading for food, or stories,
Or just a hand to hold.

What have they done to him?
Is he dead?
Is he alone?
Is he afraid?
Does he even remember me?
Does he remember the happy times
That we shared?
Sighing, I look up, and feel the tears
Welling up in my eyes.
They stream down my face
And fall onto the dying grass.
I soon snap back to reality.
Here, there is no time for memories,
So I look back at the work I was supposed to do.
I cannot look at the gray patch of sewing any longer.
It makes my eyes water
To stare at such tedious work for so long.
Instead, my eyes wander about the camp.
There is no beauty in this lonely place.
Death is all I see.
Yes, a few bodies,
But mostly just dead spirits.
Dreams crushed by the evil Nazis.
Hopes that will never be fulfilled.
Why did they do this to us? Why?
How dare they treat us with such cruelty!
Don't they see that we are just as worthy
Of life?
Don't they see that we are equal to them?

I glance over toward another group of people.
They look distraught and frustrated.
So does everyone here.
One is crying, and a pang of sympathy
Shoots through my heart.
Then I look again, and my heart
Is happy, for the first time
In years.

Mother? It is! I can't believe such luck!
Her hair is gray, not at all like its old, golden color
That it used to be.
I recall the times
When her mouth was curved delicately
Into a beautiful smile.
Now, there is a stern look of rebellion,
As if she were ten years old again.
But I can sense the fear that is mixed in.
She is my mother, all the same,
And I love her, despite everything.
She was so loving towards me.
I remember her laughing eyes.
Such a brilliant green, they were.
Now they are swollen from tears.
Breathing heavily with curiosity,
I make my way towards her.

Then I see it,
There, among the dead, brown grass.
The collapsed body of a child
That couldn't take it.
I see that he isn't breathing.
His face is streaked with dirt,
And sweat drenches his angelic figure.
I see his light, curly hair around his sweet little face,
And I remember that same face,
Asking for a hand to hold,
Smiling at a rabbit on the lawn,
Laughing at a funny song.
Now that face is filled with pain,
And I cry too.

I cry so that the world may see
That i am not so different
And when I am sad, there are tears.
I cry so that the Nazis can see
What they have done to me.
I cry so that my feelings rush out at once,
Mingling with the salty water.
It feels good, to cry it out.
Most of all, though, I cry
Along with those millions of others
Who have shared in my pain.
The tears of many before me,
And many to come,
Many still living,
And many here, with me, dying,
All pour out from my eyes.
I cry with the strength of a million people,
And one million people cry with me.
The Holocaust has taken us,
Broken us, injured us.
And so I cry,
But I cry with strength.