Years Have Sped By

Poems

Suwalki -- "Shul Gahss¹ number 34

Was our ancient address . . .

So fragrant there

Was the springtime air,

With bloom of breathtaking, colorful lilacs! . . .

 

At the foot of the hill

Rushed and foamed the "Black Andja" --

Its moss-covered pebbles it caressed;

Like secrets, to us it whispered . . .

 

Does there still, somewhere

Sprout a blade of grass?

Do leaves on young branches still grow

On those age-old trees?

Or is all, there, muffled

In silence now?

 

Jewish gardens -- I see you lie fallow -- --

Without beets, onions, radishes or carrots,

Unclaimed, abandoned -- in deep sorrow,

Saved were you, my Jewish people

From contemplating your fate! . . .

 

Missing is the girlish laughter

Echoing from Rivke, Basha Gitel and Sheine Ester, sisters mine . .

'Tis difficult indeed,

Oh! Righteous G-d!

So difficult, after my sisters to pine . . .

 

Suwalki -- #34, on "Shul Gahss"

Your walls -- so dark . . . so dismal . . .

Stormy winds -- they tear . . . they bite . . .

And still the bloody torrents spill.

 

Over that number -- once my home --

Memorial candles flicker --

In my throat -- a choking knot, --

Beset am I with feverish thoughts . . .

* * * *

(1) "Shul Gras" -- the synagogue street