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Nelly Sachs

World, they have taken the small children like butterflies and thrown them, beating their wings, into the fire.

there where children die
stone and star
and so many dreams
become homeless.

We orphans
We lament to the world:
Stones have become our playthings,
Stones have faces, father and mother faces
They wilt not like flowers, nor bite like beasts--
And burn not like tinder when tossed into the oven--
We orphans we lament to the world:
World, why have you taken our soft mothers from us
And the fathers who say: My child, you are like me!
We orphans are like no one in the world any more!
O world
We accuse you!

We are so stricken
that we think we're dying
when the street casts an evil word at us.
The street does not know it,
but it cannot stand such a weight;
it is not used to seeing a Vesuvius of pain
break out.
Its memories of primeval times are obliterated,
since the light became artificial
and angels only play with birds and flowers
or smile in a child's dream

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