LAST FLIGHT

For Anne Frank

Pain in this night as there is no end

through which tunneled is cry, sob

and a tear fell

on the frozen hand.

These red poppies

in a dead heat they burn, it hurts!

warm sticky drops of blood on the lips

moonbeam peered through the wire,

Story written on an old yellowed paper

attic dream of freedom, it hurts!

Small bird’s broken wing

thwarted in its last flight.

Hurts icy stare into the sky where

it screamed endlessly.

On the steps of decades and centuries,

got lost in the song of birds,

old pictures in your pocket, it hurts!

Memories and vanishing, the vast silence.