Lament
by Abraham Vaynman
My tears are not clear
they are mixed with blood
My cries barely heard
I know I am disturbed
I long for my children
For them I sit grieving
Great God can raise the dead
I wait for that great day.
Rise up from graves my generation
from where you need not lie
Who made you these grave- apartments
Not I but the iron flies*
I see you lying together
Not wrapped in shrouds
Children together with mother
their eyes starred up to the clouds.
*bomber planes