At the dining room table.
His back is hunched but,
He wears his jacket with pride.
In the brown paper bag,
On the dining room table,
Is a package from China,
Some dried fruit, and
A letter from sixty-thousand people,
Asking him to return.
His back is hunched and he is crying because,
His nation doesn’t love him,
His Nation wants to know,
why in Nanking he,
Bothered to keep the farms going when,
The railroads were fixed and,
Potatos were coming in.
Light from the window,
Lifts dust from the surface and,
When he died,
The Chinese came and took him away,
They took him to Nanking and,
Laid him to rest,
Swastika, jacket and all.
‘…a living buddha in China, an outcast in Germany…’ he wrote in his diary
-visit two beautiful German poems by Han-Magnus Enzensberger-
♦photos – 123rf.com and John Rabe at Widipedia♦