Barukh can still touch the Holocaust

if he
stretches his arm
barukh can still touch
the holocaust

if he takes
a deep deep breath
he can still smell
human flesh burning

sweetish fragrance

fragrance

burning corpses of children
have no bad smell

they
cannot
have

innocence
has
fragrance

as barukh
stares hard
his eyes
filled with smoke
he has to blink
he is choking
he is retching

barukh covers his ears

he doesn’t want to hear
the scream

mothers screaming

fathers howling

hysterical

sobbing

barukh covers his ears

voices
are coming from inside

pain

the unbearable
pain
is within arm’s reach

barukh can see it
he can’t help it
he can see fred and leló
and judit
in the pile of human bodies

he can see the world
broken in two

life that does not lead
anywhere
anymore

he can see flying to the sky
the three innocent souls
the soul of fred
the soul of leló
the soul of judit

he can’t help it
he can see it

he can see his own soul
ripped out of his chest

he can see it
following
the other three

he can see
himself
his own body
left behind
reflected in a puddle

he can see
his own blank eyes

he is not crying
he is dead

he bends down
and touches the puddle

it is
so
close

here
inside

here
now

if he stretches his arm
barukh can still touch
death

today is
yom hashoa

About the Author
Barukh is a Hungarian-Israeli poet. He and his family have started a new life in the desert. He writes therapeutic free poems about soul, home and world peace. Barukh is me.
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