To a Ghetto Poet

To the little boy of the Polish ghetto
 Who never saw another butterfly,
 I write from a land of milk and honey
 A land flowing with the wings of butterflies.

To the little boy of the Polish ghetto
 Who never saw another butterfly,
 You were not a little boy at all
 Though I always thought you so.
  
 You were a man of twenty one years,
 A poet penned up in a ghetto
 Sentenced to death by a Nazi fatwa.
 You, who could look at a Shabbat candle
 And see the burning bush of Moses.
 You, to whom steam from the tea kettle
 Suggested a pillar of fire to hold back Egyptian chariots,
 You, who noted the last visiting butterfly to the ghetto,
 And hoped for the sun’s tears to sing
 Even as love hid her face.
 You, poet of Israel
 Became immortal on September 29,1944 at Oswietim
 You taught us life – from the ghetto.

 





Born in Chicago in 1951, Yonatan Zukowsky has lived in Israel since 1983 with his wife and three sons. He works as a teacher and free lance writer. E-mail: zuks@matav.net.il


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