The following are two poems that I wrote, sitting on the side of the main road between the barracks of the Majdanek death camp outside of Lublin, Poland. The first I wrote staring up at a long road, and the second I wrote sitting directly adjacent to the first location, in a rolling green meadow:
Pebbles – Majdanek
In a quiet wooden corridor Deriving from nature’s discomfort and unease I walk at a brisk pace And look straight ahead, never down. And keep my eyes on the prize: the end of the hall. And look ahead at my goal. Beneath my feet are eleven million tiny pebbles. Each pebble is unique. Each has its own relationship to the other stones. But none stand out. I never look down. And each pebble, under the iron-esq weight of my blue, modern shoe, makes its own screeching noise. And each individual pebble is stuck in its place. Each unique pebble will only move at the will of something less trivial, something with influence. And each tiny pebble is stepped on– by my foot. Each pebble suffers. Each pebble waits. Each pebble remains. Each pebble is the whipping boy of Me, the person who has a goal, and is determined to meet it. And while each pebble is in my way, I don’t move it out of the way of step around it. I walk over it, hearing the cries of each pebble, creating and destroying, but I never look down and I never think “down.” I am only trying to get there. I will meet my goal, I will walk on. Ignoring the petrified ground on which I trudge, I persevere. I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care.
And life goes on. For me.
A Coat of Green– Majdanek
Death Comes from small, dark rooms and Then it get’s planted in the ground Where its carbon-filled expired-ness Nurtures verdant potential and becomes The absolute leading factor in the production of Life.