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What could one put here but stones? Unspeaking, unable to express the unspeakable Jagged and uneven, silent witnesses Unmoving in the closed circle they form. Doers of unfathomable evil Choked the ground with flesh. Then did a final wrong and hid All traces of their deeds. Such suffering imposed on the mute ground. Twice violated, when the bodies It was forced to take were Wrenched from it and set on fire: Smouldering ash of the nameless. The mind seeks to enter the tunnel of time, Go back and grasp the ungraspable And fails at its finality. There is no undoing of history, Never a second chance. These thoughts rob us of speech And leave us trying to understand What cannot be understood. This place, these woods are content To be left alone, far from town or city. The birches that leaf in summer, The pines that hold the winter snow, Have no greater wish than To be free of humankind. |
