Anne:

The brown door at the bottom of the staircase teases me

If I close my eyes

I remember the way the sun would shine

The way the rain tickled my pale arms on a gloomy day

Lale:

Those fortunate enough to be hiding right now are 

Extremely lucky

Oh dear what I would give up to be sheltered right now

Underneath a well-built roof with my family

Surrounding me

Anne: 

Sometimes I can’t help but wonder

Would Papa be agitated if I opened the door for just a second?

For just enough time to hear the chuckle of a child

Or to hear the wheels of a wagon 

Rolling against the charcoal streets

Lale:

I wake up in the middle of the night

To sounds of shrieks

Vibrations of crying, sometimes soft, but mainly loud

To lose my hearing for just a second

Would be a gift from god

Anne:

I still remember the way the bakery would smell

Once you turn the street corner

The tip of your nose would be blessed by heavenly smells

Cake, bread, and so much more

Oh my, what I would do for that just once more

Lale:

As I walk through camp the smell of blood 

disturbs my fragile nose

I smell rotting corpses and dirt and muck, yuck!

If I could never smell again, that would be great luck

Anne: 

I crave the taste of tea I once had

The way it quenched my dry tongue

And slithered down the opening of my throat

We have tea here, but it’s just not the same

I don’t just want, I need that delicious taste again

Lale:

Unlike some, I am fortunate to be given food

Although it is disgusting and in small amounts

It is keeping me alive

I miss the taste of spices, sweets, and salt

I despise the taste of my current meals

I don’t mean this but sometimes I would rather not eat

At all

Then eat the food they give us here

Anne: 

When I close my eyes

I imagine the way grass would feel on my bare feet

Or the way tree bark felt when I would rip off a piece to throw at margot

The way the cool river felt when I would dive in on a hot summer day

I miss those feelings everyday

Lale:

As I make my way to work, I feel the sharp rocks cutting my feet through the worn out boots

I feel the mud as it itches my ripped skin

And the rifle of a soldier as my back is hit

I don’t want to feel anymore, I want to be numb

Anne:

I want it all again

Lale:

I don’t want any of it

Anne:

Please give it to me

Lale:

I beg you, take it away