The Penlogue
Grey Prayers
Bui Gia Khanh Pham
prayers, oh! grey prayers
reverberate in concrete chambers where
they remain unchosen to be heard,
fettered and left bare
in the ash walls of grey-dyed hopes
were blood spilled that turned cold,
were nail scratches dug so deep
they became vestiges of unrestful souls
clinks of iron masks bounce against the arch
each step you make must tear you apart,
for ghostly screams are finally let go
for layers of faces are trodden on by your soles
it was harrowing for me to click “like”,
or to even have that sheer thought in mind.
i lower my gaze as i saw,
shiver in chills as i wrote
then i wonder how it feels
to have yourself, your whole body weight,
laid right on the face of somebody:
the guilt must have strangled you tight,
and shrivelled you horrified.
once you enter the room,
forward you move,
and only forward,
just like a momentum of evil put on loop
down you look: two eyes, one mouth, one nose,
each Soul reduced to mere digit codes,
forever resonated with grey prayers,
but muffled in the undertone
prayers, oh! grey prayers
reverberate in concrete chambers where
they remain unchosen to be heard,
fettered and left bare
in the ash walls of grey-dyed hopes
were blood spilled that turned cold,
were nail scratches dug so deep
they became vestiges of unrestful souls
clinks of iron masks bounce against the arch
each step you make must tear you apart,
for ghostly screams are finally let go
for layers of faces are trodden on by your soles
it was harrowing for me to click “like”,
or to even have that sheer thought in mind.
i lower my gaze as i saw,
shiver in chills as i wrote
then i wonder how it feels
to have yourself, your whole body weight,
laid right on the face of somebody:
the guilt must have strangled you tight,
and shrivelled you horrified.
once you enter the room,
forward you move,
and only forward,
just like a momentum of evil put on loop
down you look: two eyes, one mouth, one nose,
each Soul reduced to mere digit codes,
forever resonated with grey prayers,
but muffled in the undertone
Author's note
"I stumbled on this haunting reel and instantly, I felt an impulse to capture, express, depict this feeling. It was the constant shivers as I recall the narratives taught in History lessons a year ago: the bleached hopes and the brutal tramples that occurred within the confines of the chamber walls.
The design of this memorial, the Jewish Museum Berlin, was delicately poignant, as it compels visitors to traverse layers of masks, perhaps brimming with a sense of remorse. The uneven path demands them to look downwards, confront history, and carry the weight of this tragedy in their mind."
