A pogrom is a violent riot aimed at the massacre or expulsion of an ethnic or religious group, particularly one aimed at Jews. (Wiki)
There is no tale like this within my family, or just no one left to tell this horror tale.
You can listen to this poem here.
Image: Vicente Cutanda – A los pies del Salvador
“We’ve crossed the border in the dark.”
The forest night is very dark;
it’s filled with sounds not heard in the city or a town.
Voices speak of hunger in the horror tongue
and the tongue is dry,
yearning for some blood.
Forest is one organism, one mass,
it has its wishes and some fun
poking at the stray visitor within.
We’ve crossed the border in the dark,
me, my family, some friends.
We’ve entered this living system
to escape the purge outside.
Forest’s tongue is filled with hunger
but the dialect that’s heard in villages around
speaks of work and pain
translated quickly into hate.
We also spoke this dialect of labor,
heard those whispers of the field that’s plowed,
and calmed the cry of a newborn calf
soon to join the ranks of cattle,
in our quiet, modest farm.
Tip
Thank you very much for any help!
$1.00
One Comment