"Opernplatz"

(Upon visiting the square,
Composed in April 2010).


Dort, wo man Bucher verbrennt,
Verbrennt man am Ende auch Menschen
Thousands of leaves flutter in the wind,
Volumes ceremoniously heaped high;
Unacceptable, Vile, Degenerate,
The works, the words, thoughts rejected,
Condemned, consigned to the flames;
Dark smoke billows in Opernplatz.

Such burning, frenzied censorship,
Fear hid in the smoldering embers,
Now fully ablaze with irrational zeal.

Seeking to protect themselves,
Future generations from dangerous tomes,
Exterminating decadence and corruption;
Instead, ignorant masses would create;
The fires of inquisition consume;
This raging inferno destroys.

Annihilating all seeming dissent,
And as the wise man said of old,
It would not end there.

For burning books would not uproot
Seed of difference, diversity of thought.
This conflagration of text would not suffice;
For fragrant forests up in flame
Would but the tinder be to burning flesh
Until all color, all beauty is razed.

Empty bookshelves, empty beds,
No phoenix would be found
Amongst this pyre of ash.