nineteen thirty-four

he stands by the bakery door

his fingers gliding across the violin

he plays the harmony deep within

nineteen thirty-five

his curfew is now seven forty-five

lost in his own world, he plays till forty-six

the Star on his arm dancing as the clock ticks

nineteen thirty-nine

“escape now, we’re out of time”

the thunders of the nazis overcome the skies

he flees to hide, clinging to invisible goodbyes

nineteen forty-one

he forgets the sight of the sky and sun

he paces quietly in a cellar, fearful for days

with his dear violin he is forbidden to play

nineteen forty-two

he is violently captured, sent to a camp with no food

forced to wear stripes masquerading his bony arms

abused. cold. hungry. all because of his Star.

nineteen forty-three

he is fading away like the sun, tired and weak

he gazes at the Stars and dreams of his violin

and he hums the harmony deep within.