*Note- this is a true story about my grandma as a small child who was forced
to grow up because of the holocaust. She had to deal with everything whilst
shielding her brother from it, this is for you Nana.

My Grandma.

She might not have a number,
She might not have felt the shame,
Of walking besides her brothers,
As naked as she came.

But i can see the pain,
Embedded in her eyes,
Not letting her forget,
All those traumatic times.

Her father said to call him,
On her little blue phone,
Once she's finished the big book of stories,
He said he would come home.

She rang and rang,
But he never came home,
And from that moment on,
She felt so alone.

She was separated from her mother,
Put into a non-Jewish home,
Where she spent the next two years,
Longing to go home.

During the heart of the war,
Her little brother was born,
But her father never saw,
His own son in the dawn.

She was only eight,
When they were separated from their mother,
She had to take charge,
And look after her baby brother.

She carried him through the marches,
She hid him from the war,
She saved him from the ashes,
And she shielded him from the goer.

They escaped the final train,
And on the way to freedom found,
That their mother to had been spared,
And at last they were bound.

I now understand the pain,
Embedded in her eyes,
Not letting her forget,
Those traumatic times.
 
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