Tag Hope

Tikvah

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There I was just standing there, when what I wanted to do was forbidden.

I wished I had more strength, wished I was more brave, wished I had the strength of my grandmother. Even now I could feel her downy cheek on mine as she had grasped the back of my neck with her surprisingly strong fingers, pressing her lips to my ear.

“Don’t let them break you, Esther. Do what is right.” She had kissed my forehead, the remnants of the perfume she always wore enveloping me in its warm familiarity.

They had dragged her away, a useless old woman, of no benefit, just a drain on finite resources. Dispensable.

I had hated them for that more than anything else. It burned in my chest. And yet…

I stared through the hole in the wall at the shop across the street, a street alien to me now even though it was only a moment away from where we lived. It was brightly lit, swarming with gaily dressed people like so many butterflies dancing above a wildflower meadow. The smell of freshly baked bread teased my nostrils and my stomach yawed and ached with hunger.

“If you don’t take chances,” said the man in the striped pajamas,”you might as well not be alive.”

I had seen him many times before, crouching in the gutter, holding his hand out for anything that a passer by might press into his cracked palm. I doubted he had the strength to stand. Every time we met, I tried to give him something that could be spared without Mutti noticing.

He was leaning against the wall, legs shaking with the effort. “Don’t be like me. Don’t let them break you.”

The words echoed bell-like.

“You have a child?” he asked, his voice barely a croak.

“Yes.”

He beckoned me towards him, pulling me close with surprising strength, whispering in my ear.

“Let me distract them when the gate opens. Get food for your child, for you. Survive.”

The gates were creaking open, the lorry was entering, my heart was thumping. I had to decide, had to decide now. He pushed me away, towards the gate.

“Do it!” he hissed, the potential for his last good deed setting his eyes aflame. “You have half an hour and then they will be back. Do what you must. Do what is right!.”

I remembered my grandmother, the way she lit the candles on Erev Shabbat, the flames illuminating her eyes.

I nodded and ran. I didn’t look back, not even when the bullets ricocheted off the walls, not even when jackboots rang on the cobbles, not even when I heard him scream.

He had just been standing there, and still fought back.

There was still tikvah.

Veritas – dVerse

freyathewriter 38 Comments

If I had the belief
had the guts to be street-wise,
could save my own spirit
from those pernicious, damned white lies,
I’d grasp it with both hands
and take the world on my plate
adopt the mentality,
eliminate the disparity
that pervades every alleyway, back street and door,
I’ve said it too many times
from down here, from the floor
that the shadow that dogs us,
pulls us down to the ground
is the vague sense of emptiness,
the lack of completeness,
the dullness, great sadness,
the all-pervading madness,
no – there ain’t no Messiah
at the bottom of that glass,
or in that last chocolate chip cookie
I’m adding to my ass,
no, where we’re all going
– those silent, straight rows –
won’t give us the second chance,
we can’t repeat the romance,
do it all over again,
have just one more, sweet last dance,
excuse our poor ability,
blame our short life’s fragility,
nobody will do it for us, it’s a tragedy
of giant proportions
we can’t believe the distortions
the hard work is necessity
and we must do it ourselves –
be our own self-believers
and lovers, and fighters
for at the end of my journey
when the white light is calling
the one, the last judge on my mind
will be me.

 

Veritas

———-

This week, on dVerse Poetics, Anthony has asked us to write a poem using at least 5 of the words below:

 – Messiah, Allegory, Luminous, Plate, Shadow, Door, Persona, Glass, Vitiligo, Epochal, Pernicious, Warmth –

What a collection! I didn’t really have a particular idea in mind before I started, but then, as is often the case, my poet brain took over. It’s a bit of a rant – about trusting yourself, about not buying into consumerism, about feeling free to be your true self… Lots of issues, mixed up in one, big old chunk of words. I think I’m still considering Claudia’s question yesterday about how real we get in our writing. And I just know that each poem offered up by the dVerse community will be vastly different. A great prompt, Anthony!

Please pop over to dVerse to see how others have taken the bait – and enjoy!

 

 

Phoenix

freyathewriter 65 Comments

Who am I asking at the top of the tree
Self-affirmation does nothing for me
I can’t trust my instincts, they’re hay-wired and shot
The message is scrambled, my brain’s lost the plot

I’m down on the floor, scraping in dirt
A nod of acceptance won’t really hurt
You in your turret, with glories to share
Tell me, a poor wretch, that you do really care

For it is cold down below in the shade of your heart
I live for attention, I am broken apart
When you look to the beauty of others in sight
Ignoring my mewling, I cower with fright

That I have lost you forever, I am lost in the dark
The future is bleak, empty and stark
I must go on without you, craft self-belief
Strength, hope and glory must rise from this grief.

******

This is me, putting myself in the shoes of one of the people in my work in progress novel, in the form of a poem. So don’t worry, I am not broken-hearted so soon into the New Year! Of course, there are elements of my personal history woven throughout, but this is essentially a piece of fiction. The main female character has lost her brother, has been left responsible for the safety of her little sister and the love of her life has taken a path she can no longer follow. Personal stories don’t change much in quasi-apocalyptic worlds, it’s the catalysts that are different….

Hurrah for the return of Open Link Night on dVerse. I will be linking up later on. Come one, come all and join in!