In Majdanek’s silent blocks they lie,
Echoes of lives that passed us by,
A sea of shoes, a testament,
To lives extinguished, souls that went.
Leather worn, fabric frayed,
Tiny shoes where children played,
Heels and soles in quiet piles,
Speak of journeys, countless miles.
Each shoe a story, untold, unheard,
Silent screams without a word,
Mothers, fathers, daughters, sons,
Thousands lost, here as one.
In this room, time stands still,
An aching void, a void to fill,
Countless feet that walked in fear,
Their whispers haunting, always near.
We walk among their remnants now,
With heavy hearts and furrowed brow,
For in this place, these shoes remain,
A poignant echo of their pain.
May we remember, may we see,
The weight of this cruel history,
And in these shoes, find the grace,
To honor every lost, loved face.