Like every year, January 27, Memorial Day, remember where you can go back to the bestiality of man. And the indifference pave the way for such stupidity. Yesterday and today, we are all guilty and we must all work to combat the brutality that lurks within us. Then they did a few ... and many died. The reflection is never enough when the story calls us with a loud voice to remind us what we're capable of if left to vent our stupidity. As we reflect on the easy prejudices are able to alter our views and how they can be terrible and irrevocable consequences. This is Jan. 27. This is every day. Remember rhymes with improved, as human beings worthy of existing.
To honor the memory and promote reflection, we mark a song by Carmen Consoli is the argument that the Holocaust, as always, the Sicilian cantantessa can describe the horror with depth and sensitivity the camp.
A sip more - Carmen Consoli
remember the cold exhausting the faint cries of my people
crammed into a crowded freight train
two days and two nights without sleep
and soon we stopped talking
soon
I remember the day that the grueling cold
lost for ever our children
hungry thirsty deprived of our clothes
and it was like swallowing glass
and soon we stopped talking
and Soon we would have ceased to understand
and I learned to always drink a sip more
and I learned to always drink a sip more
than they'd really need
than I had really need
one day I might be thirsty
I remember the fear of exhausting the cold sink
in a bed of hot coals
what logic or law of life can never explain
la diabolica impresa di quegli uomini eletti...
e ben presto avremmo smesso di parlare
e ben presto avremmo smesso di capire
ed ho imparato a bere sempre un sorso in più
ed ho imparato a bere sempre un sorso in più
di quanto ne avessi realmente bisogno
di quanto ne avessi realmente bisogno
un giorno potrei avere sete.
Browsing the web I found a series of poems written by survivors of Auschwitz, one of these I was particularly impressed and I decided to post it.
Chocolate true of Stewart J. Florsheim
I drew out of the cabin
with promises of chocolate
and words such as "Schatzchen"
but the other women knew
and, even before hearing the noise out there,
called me a bitch soldiers.
I also knew,
but hunger has his own way to change you,
and make you forget who you are.
Funny, how there can be hope in despair.
threw the chocolate on the floor
and laughed: "From Fribo. "I desired to die for,
but the flavor was muddy." Dreh dich rum, Judenschwein. "
huge boots I saw blacks, pairs and pairs
and the ground so muddy
plunge from my body.
I pulled up my dress prisoner and spread my legs.
They were so light and so were opened easily
that thanks God, I knew
I would not have resisted.
This body is not mine, this hunger;
finally, there is no reason to fight.
I wonder now if their desire for me
was a longing for death:
fuck a bald woman who was just skin and bones ,
whose only salvation was a cup of watery soup
for dinner, a slice of bread,
and perhaps, if the soldiers had wanted again,
this time, a piece of real chocolate.
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