Legacy

Tomorrow April 24, 2017 is Holocaust Remembrance Day as well as Armenian Genocide Day. I would like to share here poems that I had written for both. I am a child of a holocaust survivor and my husband is a grandchild of an Armenian genocide survivor. Our tapestry is woven by those that displayed a remarkable courageous spirit.

Numbers

Numbers tattooed

on my soul.

Lives snuffed out,

erased,

roots of humanity pulled out

like weeds,

so they would not grow,

or flourish,

so they would not survive.

Numbers tattooed,

like branded animals,

identities robbed,

discarded,

destroyed.

Voices silenced,
voices of philosophers,  

poets,

bakers,

doctors,

mothers,

fathers,

children.

The old woman sits with me,

she remembers and weeps.

she remembers walking into

an empty house for refuge,
  a photograph 

of a rabbi on the wall,

his blue eyes haunt her in her dreams. 

She remembers hunger,

cold,

despair.

Her grandparents murdered,

her uncle vanished,

her aunt dismembered.

She is a part of me,

a piece of my legacy.

Her eyes the same color as my 

beloved father's eyes.

 They held hands at the gates of hell

and survived.

I write down the stories

seared with pain
 of portraits of life

ripped apart,

families lost,

unspeakable horrors.

I write stories,

I witness,

as tears fall down,

we remember. 

This next poem I wrote to commemorate 100 years from the genocide. It is dedicated to my husband and his beloved grandfather.

Armenian Genocide -100 Years

Coal black sky,

awakens repressed memories.

Whispers of angels silenced.

You are not forgotten,

the moon watched 

while humanity looked away,

one hundred years of denial.

Grandpa,

I stood beside you as a boy,

and as a man I carry you in my heart.

Your kind but dark eyes,

pieced my consciousness with

stories of your plight,

living in a cave,

marching in the desert,

eating weeds and plants.

You were a baby boy orphaned,

grief held your hand.

You were too young to remember

your mother's love

your mother's embrace.

The emptiness,

and the sadness lingered.

The oppressors sought to destroy,

they sought deportation,

humiliation,

death.

The oppressors wished

to erase you

and our bloodline.

One hundred years of denial,

echo like whispers,

reverberate from the earth

of those that perished.

You survived

to flourish

you survived 

to tell your story

the darkness always in the shadows

 of each day.

Grandpa,

I remember.

Grandpa,

your words are not forgotten,

I retell my children of those dark days,

of their legacy,

of survival rich with

honor of your life.

Grandpa,

I stood beside you as a child,

as a man I carry you in my heart.

 

 

Remember And Change

Dad,

I don't want to write about spring,

flowers blooming,

touching my skin,

making my spirits rejoice.

Dad,

I don't wish to write about egrets 

flying into my yard,

celebrating glorious blue skies.

Dad,

I want to write about hunger and pain,

about a dark time,

when the sun did not shine for you 

and for others.

A time when your belly was empty

and your eyes witnessed 

horrors that remained with you

till the day you died.

I don't want to be gentle or soft,

I want to awaken souls.

I want the world to remember,

humanity at it's worst.

I want them to know

 that you did not

let it define you.

You were a survivor,

a champion,

that fought for other people's rights .

Your heart open and your mind

filled with dreams.

You wrote beautiful words,

soaring above the pain and horror.

Dad,

I want them to remember ,

the people that perished,

the people that did not

get to go home and build

a new life,

in a new land

I want the world to remember.