It would have been, <br />then, or even now <br />a real privilege <br />to know the Belsen boy. <br />Or, would it be <br />within the possibilities <br />to have a peek <br />at that old photograph. <br />The similarity between <br />the man who does resemble <br />a stick and nothing more <br />and one brave soul <br />who has been found <br />and whipped <br />by Cancer <br />show clearly in <br />the bathroom mirror. <br /> <br />Each morning <br />he looks and acts <br />the same. <br />Because he's always there, <br />reminding me <br />of ethnic cleansing. <br />He loves my soapy hands <br />and giggles at the foam <br />which is a make-believe <br />it shows the man before, <br />like an old photograph <br />from times long gone. <br /> <br />There's colour in his face <br />and lips, so ruby red <br />they speak. <br /> <br />A tiny bubble blows <br />to me as if to say <br />I'm just a bit of soap, <br />a thought for you. <br /> <br />We take our time, <br />the two of us, <br />and call each other names, <br />like Belsen boy <br />it is a slippery game <br />watched over by <br />the ancient mirror. <br /> <br />And as the bounty of <br />our soap just clings <br />and slowly fades <br />we get a glimpse <br />into the depth of <br />two brave souls.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/more-on-the-belsen-boy/
