The cattle car screeches, stops

The cracked door shoved aside

Light floods through, cold, crisp

Weaving about - alive.

Commotion bursts, rises, spreads

Eyes pale with terrored shock

Each is yanked to greet the dirt

Directed by force to walk.

Guns, shouts, demands do threat

Rulers inflict their hate

Victims pushed with violent strength

Shuffling past the iron gate.

Sky is hazed with thick black smoke

Drifting around each head

And the odor of burning bodies

Implying sizzling words unsaid.

Women and children to the left

Men now to the right

Yearning tears slide down wan cheeks

The innocent wail their fright.

Handed used and foreign clothing

Tainted with crusty stain

No choice but to dress

In past's unforgotten pain.

To then receive an inked number

In the place of identity

Is the erasure of a name

An invasion of serenity.

Pointed into crowded barracks

Each bunk a shrunken bed

The atmosphere one of hope

Hollow faces those of dread.

Welcomed in by bones and skin

And eyes filled with warnings

Tales of kismetic, darkened nights

And anticipated mornings.

Every prisoner is beckoned back

With commanding yells

Working minds swiftly think

This is the hell of hells.

Another count is deftly made

Some ask what for

The answer is: How many have died

Since the count at four?

Numbers are bellowed in distaste

Each draws in a breath

Some are fated to step forward

To face the grip of death.

New arrivals cannot sleep

Once the night sky falls

Scared of twisting, churning dreams

And doom that slyly crawls.

They ask themselves, why is it me

Love, why is it you

Why is it so fatally wrong

To live and be a Jew?