Eighty years ago, Buchenwald concentration camp was liberated, revealing the horrific suffering endured by thousands of victims. Under brutal Nazi rule, countless lives were lost to violence, starvation, and forced labor. The liberation marked both an end to this chapter of terror and a solemn reminder of the depths of human cruelty. 

Eighty springs have bloomed and gone,
Since gates were breached and light poured on
That forested hill where silence screamed—
Where hope was starved and none had dreamed
The world might come, the world might see
What man can make of cruelty.

The wire still hummed with ghosts that day,
When boots approached through April grey.
No trumpet sang, no banners flew,
Just stunned-eyed soldiers walking through
A camp of bones, of hollowed breath,
Of life that wore the mask of death.

And yet—within that ashen place,
Some dared to speak, some showed a face.
A child stood near the gate, unbowed,
Among the wreckage, still unploughed.
The dead could not speak—so the living must,
To build a truth the world could trust.

Names carved deep in ledger lines,
Erased in gas, in smoke, in signs,
Now echo louder, year by year,
Not lost to time, but made more clear.
We mark this day not just to mourn—
But to remind what hate has borne.

O Buchenwald, your soil still weeps,
Your memory in silence keeps.
But from your pain, a vow was cast:
We shall remember. We shall outlast.
And every April, we shall say—
It happened. Here. On such a day.

So let the world stand still awhile,
And hold this grief without denial.
Eighty years, and still we cry:
Never again. Not one more lie.
Not one more cage. Not one more wall.
In memory’s name, we vow for all.