Wicks of these
Flames floating on water
Swimming flickering lights
Brightening the night sky
When a wind of grief howls
Into a hurricane which boils
Up from the deepest recesses
Of our minds, and still, still
We are stunned into silence.
Stunned by grief without name
For a child departed so bitterly,
So brutally close to the home
Where he will never walk through
The doorway again, to reach up and
Touch a mezuzah, ask his Ima
‘Ima I am hungry what can I eat?’
He will not play or fight with sisters
Again. He will not rise, a sweet face
Yet filled with sleep, to wash and daven
To sit and learn with his Tatty. Where
He was - now a void, a voice silenced.
By some cruel twist of fate, he never
Made the celebrations planned for him.
Bar mitzvah, his huppa, the bris of his sons
His sisters’ weddings, his daughters’ naming.
Our horror is buried deep down inside.
The wounded family hold us captive
And we want to ransom their sorrow
Their unimaginable loss, their grieving
With our prayers hoping unconditional
Love will heal a little, but we strangle
In the knowledge that there is no light
Nor colour to fill in the family portrait
So torn apart that only G-D can heal...
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