Warsaw’s Ash

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.

W.B Yeats
Self edited, and taken by My Life As A Photographer

White and storm cloud ash, mingle with the forbidding thunderheads, above.
A remnant of the dead, calling out to the living to be revenged.
Running, we ran from the haughty laughs, of the Dictators ragging fires.
Fleeing, we ran from the cold clicks of their barrels, on our sweaty brows.
Escaping, we ran from from this hellish earth, with one pull of the hangman’s noose.
We didn’t stay, when our comrades body’s cried out from the swirling, pools of blood; for vengeance.
We, all where the Dictators pawns; for him to move as he pleased.
We, all where the scum under his boot, to be thrown to the fire, like a heap of dirty rags.
We, all where the victims of his hate and unjustness.
And in the end, we all would be squash in the Dictators fist.
With the mighty, rush of the Dictators propaganda, are fate’s where intertwined.
Yet, while the dead get their flowers, us—the living must continue to walk through hells flames; with our rewards at bay.
Our destiny is death, and another enemy’s head our compensate.
When we kill, we do not for blood, but to take our country out of the dictators palm.
And to show the world our human hearts, beating, under our gnarled flesh.
Yet, as I lift my face to the falling ash, gliding down, like millions of tiny, shot-down ace’s, falling, from fleet of pipers.
And see the open mouths of the ravished flames, eating at my home, till Warsaw is all but, charcoaled corps and skeleton ruins.
I wonder when God will seem fit to end, this ragging, tide of blood-shead and anarchy.


Joy Tiberend

My inspiration for this poem came relatively, to a tragic date in history: known as the Warsaw up-rising and the burning of Warsaw, during the holocaust, in Poland, 1943. The up-rising begin in a Polish ghetto, where, when the Jewish people inside where being “evacuated” they refused to be hulled off, ‘like sheep to the slater’ and rallied together to fight back.

The ghetto residence, surprisingly manage to hold of the Nazis’ for about a month, from April 19 – May 16. Which was far unanticipated, saying how the Nazi’s far outnumbered them in terms of manpower and weaponry.

Thought, sadly May 16 was their down-fall. The Nazi’s ended up firmly taking hold of the Ghetto and dragging off an estimated 50,000 fighters to extermination or labor camps. Though, some of the fighters managed to escape through the sewer, where they joined Partisans…others committed suicide, instead of being hulled off to death camps.
Proximately 7,000 Jewish lives where taken that day, thought the Nazi’s didn’t get away clean, it is said, that they too lost several hundred men in the uprising.

After the up-rising, Hitler and his SS, decided to make an example of the city, which they had long since selected for major reconstruction as part of their planned ‘Germanization’ of Central Europe. (Ironically, the destruction Warsaw, had been planned even before the start of WWII. The uprisings was really, just a convenient excuse to burn it; like Helen of Troy.) Their big plan was to simply to, whip Warsaw of the face of the earth, and sadly….in the end they exceeded in wiping out a major majority of Poland’s capital. 80–90% of Warsaw’s buildings where deliberately demolished, burned, or stolen of an immense part of its cultural heritage.

Ann Frank, wrote her thoughts in her diary, on the eve of Warsaw’s destruction: “Almost all Warsaw is a sea of flames. To set houses afire is the surest way to deprive the insurgents of their hiding places. When we crush the uprising, Warsaw will get what it deserves – complete annihilation.”

Through, my poem I tried to being out the heart-wrenching and melancholic emotions, that would of been felt, by looking into the soul of an Anonymous, survivor, who fought with their life for freedom, against one man I called the ‘Dictator’.

It was a poem of guilt—a guilt that ate away at the soul with every heart beat of my survivor. A guilt so strong, it wooed this Anonymous character, to write a poem; so the world might look through Warsaw’s ash, and see streakers of the brave-hearted Warriors, living and dead; who fought for the purposes of freedom and unity.

For further information on Warsaw:

https://www.history.com/topics/world-war-ii/warsaw-ghetto-uprising

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Warsaw_Ghetto_Uprising

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Destruction_of_Warsaw

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Warsaw_Ghetto

—Joy Tiberend

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-The Art of Joy-

An Advanced copy of the original: The Art of Joy!

“Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy.”
― Thich Nhat Hanh

Life is never perfect, it comes with a few struggles and joys. Thought, sometimes it seems that life is throwing a lot more struggles then joys at us. That may be true, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t also have joy. With one single smile, or a positive remark we create our own joy, and by being joyful we can also light up our dreary surroundings.
You see, joy doesn’t just come from sunshine and happy friends, it can also be spread by a signal smile. In my opinion smiles our the greatest kind of joy, for a smile can be contagious.

Like smiles, moments can also bring you joy, a good song, new cloths, a clean room, a peppy pup, a beautiful meadow, great friends. Theses moments can be truly joyful, but not all moments our sunshine and rainbows. Sometimes moments in life can be a tragedy, a hateful comment, a bad friend, a violent act, a great loss. When theses moments arise life can become dreary and gray very fast. That’s why when I see or experience a great moment I grab it and hang on to that memory. So, when the bad moments come and bet you up like a violent storm you can go back and reminisce over those joyful moments.

Images: “Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky.”
― Rabindranath Tagore, Stray Birds

Thought, Occasionally when enjoying a good moment a bad one can come back to haunt. That’s when I use the ‘sunset rule’ as I like to call it. My golden inspiration came from a casual stroll threw the woods. The woods dominion: dancing snowflakes, ruddy-bark warped trees; shaven clean from a million mooses majestic antlers. Peaceful, hazy calm. Mound upon mound of crisp, clear white snow; twinkling and blinking lazily up at me, and walking into a wide clearing, stood my sunset: fiery and golden, flashing array intense orange and yellow. With splashes of scarlet and delicate Violet. The sunset was really just a ordinary AK sunset, but to me it was incomparable and it taught me an important lesson. As I stood looking into that magnificent orb, of golden light and beauty, I realized that when you are looking at a captivating sunset you don’t go back and think of a dreary cloudy day. No, you enjoy that sunset and the moment that it brings.
It’s the same with life: when you come across a joyful moment, don’t go back to an awful moment in your life, instead try to enjoy that moment and the joy that it brings, with all your heart. For every moment in life either
good or bad can equip us for the battles ahead.

Any of us can choose to be dropy, But can we choose to be happy? It takes a human with real courage and persistence to make sunshine out of your shadows, instead of resorting to a frown and a stormy life.

“Any fool can be happy. It takes a man with real heart to make beauty out of the stuff that makes us weep.”
― Clive Barker, Abarat: Days of Magic, Nights of War

Ann Frank, wrote in her diary—“I don’t think of all the misery, but of the beauty that still remains.” Locked in an office, hiding from Hitler and his hell, Ann, a teen girl had every right to embrace sadness and self pity, but no, she chose to look around her and see the beauty among the raging fires, of her home and the ashes of Bergen-Belsen. If Ann Frank can take the stand to chose Joy, then how much more can we make the same choice? Not, just once but continually.

Next time, when you stub your toe, or lock your keys in the car…take a breath and choose joy.

“Sorrow prepares you for joy. It violently sweeps everything out of your house, so that new joy can find space to enter. It shakes the yellow leaves from the bough of your heart, so that fresh, green leaves can grow in their place. It pulls up the rotten roots, so that new roots hidden beneath have room to grow. Whatever sorrow shakes from your heart, far better things will take their place.” 
― Rumi

—Joy