Easter Elegy

Fragile blades of this fresh and green.
It's almost Easter. World is on quarantine.
Scent of elder-trees, sweet and a little tart.
Cemeteries demand elegies.
Let me start.

Here, over hundreds of gothic graves
resurrected Christ holds his banner straight.
In these stained glass windows, still the same,
one reads hope for afterlife,
even covered by bitter cries.

Dandelions, daisies, forget-me-nots
whirl fervently in their new spring storms,
flooding every breach.
they grow frantically by the tombs,
cruel like lilac, all in bloom
over Auschwitz--

this ephemeral blood of the sacrificed--
reunited each with their own Christ,
no matter which--
is oozing through the cracks in the barracks' walls,
as a triumph, a message: life wins it all.

He is resurrected, you know?
Casting away betrayals and excruciating pain.

World slows down. Takes off the bandages.
Gasps a lungful of air.
And starts again.

7 april 2020