The master of pain is prominent in Dachau,
Perfecting a frown on a gaunt and shrivelled face,
Playing unconscionable games with my beautiful mother,
Reminding me I’ll be next if I survive a few more years,
Debating death is like an alluring melody hammered inside my head.
Violins bring a magical essence of self achievement,
Comforting disheartened and shattered hearts,
But I was not permitted to bring anything with me,
Without my violin I feel incredibly lonely,
Unable to let out my suffering through music,
Hitler has taken away my purpose.
An undefined soldier waltzes over to my mother,
Raising his brutal fist above her emaciated back,
Characteristically, my brother and I intervene,
A cacophony of sounds sprint through my ears,
My mother’s unrelenting and mortifying screaming,
A haunting laugh from my mocking captor,
The resonating sound of a newly-fired gun.
Death entangles its lanky arms around my heart,
Draining my crimson liquid onto the frozen ground,
Leaving three distinct colours for all to contemplate,
Dazed red, for the shapes I see from tear filled eyes,
Blotched grey, for a monstrously mislead Germany,
Cumulus white, for the colour on my dying brother’s face,
The shifting pattern of colours lingers momentarily, then dies.
© Sarah Jaeger
Winner Dorothea Mackellar Poetry Competition – Upper Primary, 2014