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Two Sides of the War: Can you hear me?
Anne:
The brown door at the bottom of the staircase teases me
If I close my eyes
I remember the way the sun would shine
The way the rain tickled my pale arms on a gloomy day
Lale:
Those fortunate enough to be hiding right now are
Extremely lucky
Oh dear what I would give up to be sheltered right now
Underneath a well-built roof with my family
Surrounding me
Anne:
Sometimes I can’t help but wonder
Would Papa be agitated if I opened the door for just a second?
For just enough time to hear the chuckle of a child
Or to hear the wheels of a wagon
Rolling against the charcoal streets
Lale:
I wake up in the middle of the night
To sounds of shrieks
Vibrations of crying, sometimes soft, but mainly loud
To lose my hearing for just a second
Would be a gift from god
Anne:
I still remember the way the bakery would smell
Once you turn the street corner
The tip of your nose would be blessed by heavenly smells
Cake, bread, and so much more
Oh my, what I would do for that just once more
Lale:
As I walk through camp the smell of blood
disturbs my fragile nose
I smell rotting corpses and dirt and muck, yuck!
If I could never smell again, that would be great luck
Anne:
I crave the taste of tea I once had
The way it quenched my dry tongue
And slithered down the opening of my throat
We have tea here, but it’s just not the same
I don’t just want, I need that delicious taste again
Lale:
Unlike some, I am fortunate to be given food
Although it is disgusting and in small amounts
It is keeping me alive
I miss the taste of spices, sweets, and salt
I despise the taste of my current meals
I don’t mean this but sometimes I would rather not eat
At all
Then eat the food they give us here
Anne:
When I close my eyes
I imagine the way grass would feel on my bare feet
Or the way tree bark felt when I would rip off a piece to throw at margot
The way the cool river felt when I would dive in on a hot summer day
I miss those feelings everyday
Lale:
As I make my way to work, I feel the sharp rocks cutting my feet through the worn out boots
I feel the mud as it itches my ripped skin
And the rifle of a soldier as my back is hit
I don’t want to feel anymore, I want to be numb
Anne:
I want it all again
Lale:
I don’t want any of it
Anne:
Please give it to me
Lale:
I beg you, take it away
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This piece is very close to my heart as I am very passionate about history, the Holocaust, and human rights. This poem discusses different perspectives on the tragedy of World War 2 through the eyes of two children.