some smoking, breath like ectoplasm
on a sad, terrible day.
A man stares briefly at the crowd
then runs with others to the trench
that has turned into a gruesome mass grave
and his life is impossible to save
from the bullets of the Einsatzgruppen
as the crowd smirks, banality of evil.
I wonder what dreams once flourished
inside the poor victim's head,
did he saunter through forests with his love?
Today all's quiet but ghosts remain
from the doomed Jews in times so insane.