History of Jews in Bukowina [Volume II, page 48]

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[Page 48]

Exile
Alfred Kittner
Translated by Berti Glaubach

Editorial assistance by Jerome Schatten and Bruce Reisch

We left behind one or two things:
A book to dream, a play of strings,
A window, perhaps one could view,
Our acacias nodding through.
Of all the roads around the house,
Not one to lure us or arouse,
They only led along a track,
A silent circle and came back.
When first we glimpsed the way to follow,
Our journey full of squalor,
Birds over us, to the south they flew,
Autumn storms around us, tired, few.
We were thousands, and our group,
Stopped only at the banks of the Bug,
Many corpses lie dormant on its banks,
At last we reached our destination, thanks!
The quarry given to us to dwell,
Will be covered by snow, a grave in hell.
And all the calls we sent back home,
They are not heard, remain unknown.
We left behind one or two things:
Who thinks today to play on strings,
Only in dreams we see, may view,
Our Acacias nodding through.

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