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Warsaw, march 1943
Dear diary,
Bread is short
but cold is plentiful.
Mother has started crying alone,
we are now not allowed to leave
the Ghetto at all.
People are saying a new change has
to happen,
but I just pray for any liberation.
The round ups seem
more severe now,
each street is getting
more and more of
unwelcome soldiers
thinning us out
with no real excuses
as to why we must leave.
Soon I think we will all be gone,
corpses an all.
Tanks are rumbling by
louder than my stomach
but I cling to hope
like a leech to my skin.
Bloodied but alive.
We must keep going somehow.
As long as I have paper and pencil
then we as a family and people
will survive,
survive this,
this shechita.
The air is different tonight.
I can smell it...
