pushed from that sharp cliff,

amid the scent of death

I joined the thousands

who that day died in Babi Yar;

nor Russian nor Jew was I

but was so in knowing

now bare but for the dirt and air

that deep ravine;

blood seeped on the dirt

shots echoed through the hills

crows on death watch

swooped low on piles of death;

a child reached out to me

and in embrace we sank

on a sea of arms and legs

as her breath abruptly stopped;

When Nazi soldiers with their boots

walked on my neck and chest

and on my heart and head;

my untouched soul recoiled;

I saw human masks, not men,

and wondered if they knew

they had sold their souls that day

in that ravine;

history becomes the priest

who weds assassins to their deeds

who thought to murder and forget

but left their minds in Babi Yar.

 Copywrite 2007 - "The Blood in Babi Yar" was published in the 2007 issue of Writer's Journal under the writer's maiden name, Gloria Caballero