Inspired after reading Elie Wiesel’s Night. The worst part of the story is that it’s true.



There is nothing in the ghettos, nor anything in their eyes,

The eyes that only witnessed silent nights of cruel demise.

The snow is not as freezing as the fateful captor’s heart.

Our captors go by many names like soldier, death, and dark.

That silence is the silence of the dead and the unseen,

There is nothing but the memories to know where we have been.

A man needs not a name to help, to care, to save a life,

Or for him to be a hero in attempt to stop the strife.

We helped each other through the cold to stand where we would not

So that if we were beaten, we’d have those for whom we’d fought.

But very few have courage to stand up and act and speak,

Most melt into the shadows, just afraid of being beat.

The nameless, they can help us, or they can be our fate–

The difference is simple: do they show love or only hate?

These times of pain were bearable with grace of human acts:

Families might together stay by changing certain facts.

As if those things had mattered, like one’s job or height or age,

No, regardless of these things, we could not escape death’s rage.

They gave us bread and soup that made our feeble stomachs sting,

And we knew the sounds of liberty would for us never ring.

The nameless, they can help us, or they can be our fate;

The difference is simple: do they show love or only hate?

Deep down we know the answer, that evil conquered good,

And only by remembering can things be as they should.

To be saved or to be slain,

Dependent on people without a name…


Poems on Wuthering Heights

II. Heathcliff

How must it feel to know that your own kin

who once held you in promised high esteem

preferred one off the street to those within?

and even apres-morte you have no gleem?


Your wife’s dear heart is somber as the moors;

sweet Catherine prefers my company.

In age you gamble foolish as a boor

whilst I turn tables: you succumb to me!


Sweet vengeance is my pattern in this life–

to watch you crumble calms my wretched soul.

The gladder that I be, the more your strife;

Your family’s demise I make proud goal.


So say that you have found a life of naught;

your beating heart stopped sooner than you thought.

Poems on Wuthering Heights

I. Hindley

I had a father, be it known, and he and I close knit

until your surly face was shown and fam’ly ties were slit!

you robbed me blind of pedigree, you’re quite the heathen, cad!

yet father still preferred your sleaze to me, and I say mark him mad!

and then the ripe estate was mine, its rightful owner and his wife,

and work did you, while still you pined— you disrupt mine, I’ll waste your life.

my sister never would have been unruly ’til with you she left—

you imp of Satan cursed her whims until she suffer’d dying breath!

mine final days draw near to end, and still you plot malicious plans.

inheritance, God, did I spend, held you the mortgages in hand…

so now your misery unfolds, presiding such a fine damned place:

your lover hates you, you’ve grown old, no friend to mourn your empty space.

you seek revenge despite some love, for sin and work are all you know.

for mine whole life I’ve been above, while you belong in realms below.

mark my words, you have been damned— your presence is the Lord’s mistake!

so suffer, pray, dreadfully and look towards the death that’s in your wake.

Poems on Wuthering Heights

III. Enabled Angel: Catherine

The girl is small and snowish-white.

Her breath is lilac-coloured, dulling,

and the words she say

come with dismay,

but not ever from spite;

just given to the circumstances sullen.


At the dawn-tide blankets, quilts;

At the night-tide, tears.

a single rose

its blossom blows,

its scent sweet as it wilts,

decaying life put out of fears.


Nodding as the scripture bakes,

leavening the heartbeat red.

Set tablecloths,

the sin of sloth.

The joy within her never wakes,

the body softly fills with dread.


Setting little spoonful words…

In the chamber heartened keep

close to God

and near Him laud.

High the paradise with birds.

Now lays she down the head to sleep.