Home » Poems » Mark Martin » The Warsaw Uprising

The Warsaw Uprising

What is freedom?
The brief period of anarchy between the last tyranny and the next?
Are we free if we cannot see the cage?
Or feel the chains?
What if our masters lengthen our leashes?
Only to tighten their hold at a whim?
How can we be free without rule of law?
And who can we trust to enforce this law?
How long before we scream for the security of slavery?
Do we adopt the tyranny of the masses and choose our masters?
Or use our hard fought freedom on behalf of the people?
What price are we willing to pay for our freedom?
Free to live in the ruin we claim?
Free to eat the food we can scavenge?
Free to love who we can trade scant coin for?
Free to die for someone's cause?

Who are free people anyway?
Free people are brothers
Until they betray us
And dash our freedom against the rocks of realpolitiks
That makes our philosophy moot

We debated the night before the uprising
Dividing the spoils of freedom
Which we could never win

The motherland, the fatherland
Both accepted Solomon's judgement
Without Solomon's wisdom
They tore our beloved nation asunder
The bloody halves divided
And trampled under boot

And as any bargain between devils
It could not last
One betrayed the other

First the fatherland stampeded east
With boot and wheel and track and wing
With bayonet, bullet, shell and bomb
And murder
Then the motherland stampeded west
With boot and wheel and track and wing
With bayonet, bullet, shell and bomb
And revenge

And as the motherland approached our broken city
They held out a hand of friendship
Hid inside a blood soaked glove
Our blood

Stand up and fight! Take back your city!
The fatherland is retreating! We'll support you!
Strike for freedom! We're your brothers!
Trust us!

As drowning men will clutch at anvils
Thrown to them in jest or hate
Or cold calculation
We chose to believe
Though no-one believed
Not really
Is the enemy of our enemy our friend?
No. We were just their plaything

As we took arms against our cruel oppressors
The motherland's might and thunder
Just stood and watched
Heedless to our cries for help
Soulless betraying eyes witnessed the unfolding horror
As hell was unleashed

There is no disease
No matter how trivial
That cannot be cured
By cutting out the beating heart
With utmost fervour
And burning the host's remains

So sadists clad in the uniforms of the fatherland
Followed orders with grinning delight
Indulged their base desires
Their savagery methodical
As street by street
And building by building
Most were massacred
The rest expelled
The city levelled

As the fatherland fled
The motherland gave chase
We were no longer a threat to our freedom
The dirty deeds already done by their foes
We could now enjoy the industrial serfdom of the motherland
As brothers in chains

At least some of us survived
But survival is never enough
And even if others forget our fight
We'll keep our struggle alive in our tales
One day we will join our brothers in freedom
And rebuild our story





Entry to the "the swords speak" contest

Written 21st January 2017

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.