The Carts on the Place

Do you hear those creaking carts
They move forward slowly
Jolting on the rough cobblestones

They burst with an unusual freight
But who worries ?
Except you, lost in the crowd
Crushed up against the grey wall

O Here is one of them falling on the ground
And no one to see it!
Recumbent statue of paper & black leather
Holy Torah !

And you rush up to seize it
And hide it in the folds of your coat
Your heart pounding like a mad drum
And your eyes gushing like fountains
But who worries ?

And when the furnace hums & sputters
& the flames lick the sky
you think of the One who high above
reigns and who, like you
is lamenting & weeping

And the wind, innocent ?
Rekindling the hellish embers
Becoming the invisible accomplice
Of the insulting crowd

White shrouds of paper soiled by soot
Amputated black letters
Flying in the air
Like holy butterflies
Climbing up Higher and higher

Those creaking carts
Which jolt on the place's cobblestones
Do you hear them
Moving slowly away ?

This poem is based on the true account of the burning of the Talmud in Paris during the Middle Ages and I "imagine" I am witnessing this dramatic event..

The Carts on the Place

Ilan Braun