This blog contains material I wrote and posted on between the years 2005 and 2011 only. It does not contain any new material. For newer writing, please check my main blog (Bill the Butcher).

Friday, 12 October 2012

Ballad Of The Concentration Camp

Walls grey walls bricks wire and glitter of metal weapon-bright in the sunshine but no litter
This is no place for litter. Here Arbeit Macht Frei. Here we're in Paradise
If only we knew it. And only the traitor feels his hunger, only the treasonable
Moans his pain. Here the birds fly over the wall, and the towers with their machine guns. This is no prison for birds,
More's the pity. Because -
I'd like to fly over the walls with those birds, Herr Hauptsturmfuehrer. I know this is 
Ungrateful, after all you have done. After your tender beatings
To teach me to keep my eyes down
And my mouth shut, except to answer roll call. I'm grateful for those lessons, surely I am. Maybe even some day I would figure out what I'm doing here. I only know it's for my good,
Because the Fuehrer said so. Was I am I an enemy of the people? I, Jew, Social Democrat, Gypsy, Communist, am I the enemy? Is it true?
I'm desolate at my own incompetence at comprehending the simplest thing, Herr Hauptsturmfuehrer. You could have sent me to the chambers, after all, but you didn't. 
I might have flown like the birds, over the wall
In smudges of crematorium smoke.
Maybe you might have done me a favour at that, HerrHauptsturmfuehrer
I think I hate you.

Copyright B Purkayastha 2007

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