In that place

It was at this place on this ground that would be the end of the line for one and a half million of them.

I hate the people who did this to them. I hate those people as much if not more than they hated the people they killed here. My hatred for them is fierce. It is ugly, it is vile. It smells like that of a corpse rotting in feces that feeds the maggots that turn into flies. It is putrid and rank this hate that I have for those people.

In the end I am no better or worse than the people that committed the attrocities over 60 years ago. My hatred makes me just like them. No different in anyway. The only difference is that I have not committed any of those attrocities.

I don't want all this hatred burning in me.
It's something from which it's so hard to be free.
And all of the tears that we cry in sorrow or rage
could make any difference or turn back the page.