Sunday, April 29, 2012

Aviva



She sat
there in the cubicle, 
with eyes closed 
trying to 
drown out the cries 
of tortured souls that
still rang in her ears 
and 
the pungent odor
of billows
of smoke 
that screened
the crimson haze
 of gray vision that 
numbed her
senses as she tried to forget
the painful reminder 
of Dachau, 
now reduced to a neurotic museum of tears. 
In her mind,
where footsteps are stationary 
and the labored sound
of hoarse breathing
echoed 
in the silent passageways, 
the faded pictures 
breezed through her
memory. 
Their voices were now
 silent
and the curtains
drawn to hide 
the reflections 
in the mirror 
of her eyes
that belied 
the mourning of
her
heart.
 #

photo credit: dachauscrapbook

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