The piles of garbage were real
All over the top of the ghetto
To the nearby river
Almost as a replacement
For the fresh air
That sneaked in from
The outskirts of Warsaw. 

 

The piles of garbage were smudged
All over the truth
In a sea of panic
As the Police fired into the crowd
And two pregnant women
Were trampled to death.

 

Piles and piles were stacked up
In the background
As geese were filmed
Being taken to market
When in reality children
Were being shot for stealing eggs.

 

Piles and piles and piles
Of the strong and the dying
And the lame and the sick
Huddled in alleyways
Waiting for their Messiah
To rescue them.

 

Piles and piles of people
Shaking hand to mouth
In the cold of winter
And the sunset of June.

 

They were the many
Who were chained in the shadows
And the many
Who were trapped
In a dual imagining
Of forgiveness and despair,

 

Trapped in a ghetto
Like Alice trapped halfway
Through the looking glass
As the world stamped
All over them,

 

Before then turning its back

And the whistle in the wind
Went silent in shame
Before a train journey
To Genocide.