Homesick
I've lived in the ghetto here more than a year, In Terezín, in the black town now,
And when I remember my old home so dear,
I can love it more than I did, somehow.
Ah, home, home,
Why did they tear me away?
Here the weak die easy as a feather And when they die, they die forever.
I'd like to go back home again, It makes me think of sweet spring flowers. Before, when I used to live at home, It never seemed so dear and fair.
I remember now those golden days... But maybe I'll be going there again soon.
People walk along the street,
You see at once on each you meet
That there's a ghetto here,
A place of evil and of fear.
There's little to eat and much to want, Where bit by bit, it's horror to live. But no one must give up!
The world turns and times change.
Yet we all hope the time will come When we'll go home again.
Now I know how dear it is
And often I remember it.
9.3.1943. Anonymous
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This poem is preserved in manuscript, written in pencil on a sheet of lined paper torn from a notebook. The date "9.III. 1943" is in the upper right corner. All other facts are missing.
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Poetry of the Holocaust
PoetryI'm quite interested in the holocaust and the poetry of its time period, so I decided to make a collation of poems for all of you to read. A short history is included at the end of each poem. Enjoy!!:)
