Courtesy: Google Image
A movable book-case
served as a door
to the Secret Annex
where hid two families
The Frank and the Van Pels,
for sometimes in the 1940’s.
It was like a womb
gestating history
to be born
long after they were gone.
Love of words
sustained an angel.
Teenager she was.
Those words were a dove
that found a sky
on the pages of her diary.
I know how
Its wings were chopped off.
Woe unto the womb
that birthed and birth humans
with choppers
as hands.
Yet the dove
is still alive,
throbbing with life,
ever opening a door
into that amazing life
and a toxic time.
Posted for my Midweek Motif ~ The Door @ Poets United
sumanar/lekha 