A Wall of Scratched Voices

Can you hear me through the scratches on this wall?
I’m talking to you. You, who betrayed me and made my
nails splinter against this metal; made my life fragment
into something different – nothing.

Are you haunted when you walk around this place?
You steadied yourself with the door as you walked in.
I held that door, with shaking hands and eyes that
darted – take your headphones off. Look at me. Listen.

This is me now. An engraving. You’re all the same, I
never knew that before. We all are, were – the same, I mean.
Very few monsters roam this earth, and yet this happened:
here I am – a silenced voice, a life violently discontinued.

And it could have been anyone. Anyone killed and anyone killer
because you are all the same and you are not, not what I
thought you were. It stayed the same though. It shone and it
grew and it poured and it was beautiful and infallible.

You were not. You forgot everything you preached about,
everything you loved and worse, worst of all you forgot to
remember that we are all the same. Go, go on, they’re calling
you, go. Remember me now, and keep all that you know.

A poem I wrote following my trip to Auschwitz a month ago.




Leave a Reply

  1. A powerful reminder; chilling and comforting, we are all the same. You leave Auschwitz but those whose eyes dart fearfully to and fro, they leave with you. Keep writing Emily.

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