Nusha’s Guilt

Shadows follow me, from graves at the farmAn-Afghan-places-dirt-over

In Uzbekistan to the snow covered soil of Germany

And the sun dried deserts of Arizona.

The cossack sits on the tractor that turns the plow

Turns the earth over and over


The bones of my dead baby boy…  

The bones of my dead parents…

Where I left them behind in shallow graves

While I watched hidden in terror

Fist in my mouth to silence the sobs



Tortured and guilty leaving behind sisters

Afraid they will keep us all if they know the truth

The Communists, the Cossacks

Whom do you turn to when life has ended at 24?

Whom do you rage against when everyone hurts?

How do you continue breathing?

Whom do you pray to?

When everyone has died and God is gone?

All rights reserved.  ©2009 by Sara Fryd

*My parents, Holocaust survivors, were never sent to a Concentration Camp in Poland or Germany.  They ran South and East spending WWII in Uzbekistan (Southern Russia) with my Grandparents, Aunts, Cousins.  In 1944, there was a great famine and most of the family died prior to my birth.  This poem is in the voice of my Mother who lived the experience of losing her first born son, Alex and her parents Hershel and Sara.  As happened to most of her generation of Holocaust survivors, she was unable to speak of the horror, the hurts, so I speak for her now, though she’s gone.


7 thoughts on “Nusha’s Guilt

  1. Not many of us can say “I understand” Sara, but it saddens me to know about the suffering.
    It was said that salvation is defined through suffering; but I’ve never quite grasped that. Perhaps the suffering wasn’t experienced by the one who said it.
    As always your writing gives all of us an appreciation for beauty in the midst of chaos.


  2. Dearest Sara, what a beautiful tribute to your mother and your family. Your powerful and loving words are a gift, not only for them, but for us all. I believe your mother’s spirit is a radiant light now and she, an Angel in a Heavenly place. I see her wondrous light in you shining out into a world that needs light – and more light and then some more. I thank you and I thank your mother. Peace, Sharie


  3. I just want to hug your mother, and you for giving her such a powerful voice.

    No, she couldn’t speak of it. None of them can, really. If they give voice to it, they will start screaming and won’t be able to stop. Silence is the only control they had in the horror, silence was the only voice they had, and their silence is louder than words.


  4. What a brave and honorable thing for you to project your mother’s voice. You are truly a beautiful being to do this for her Sara. If only all of us would make time to be so selfless, I am truly inspired by this post.


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