let me forget
the horrors that i lived
the painful memories that i carry
let me forget
the feelings that arose
so deep, so deep and painful
let me forget
that now, who i am, was forever changed
just fifteen when war broke out
when others took my country from me
took my life, my hopes
took my family, my friends
shattered them and forever changed them
let me forget that world
a night of restful sleep i could never have
we harboured those they feared
one night a week
sleep would be shattered
a face demanding to know where they were hidden
one night in very, very few
it was the face of the monger
the answer the same
though i lied and lied and lied
let me forget that face
a night of restful sleep would never come
the night sky full of angry drones
the scream of sirens
the crash of bombs
just one
just one
might be loosed at me
let me forget those nights
a night of restful sleep was far away
as I roamed the land free at night
to call in the drones that come tonight
to organise and to resist
it was not free
bound by hedges, roads and trees
in fields wide open
in woods with trees
the monger always looking
let me forget being hunted
one day i was caught
but only suspected
held in the monger’s domain
for what seemed hours i waited and waited
would their glances turn into hate
they'd caught what they wanted but didn't yet know
at end of shift it was sure to change
the receptionist let me free
my name was not listed when i was brought in
the simple resistance of a pen unmoved
let me forget what i escaped
my beloved and i embraced each other
but a few times in a year
always stilted, excited from so many days spent apart
each time that we met
this might be the last
last touch
last kiss
last glance
let me forget that desperate embrace
so many years on
but still so very clear
the horrors of that time
the vision of war
the incredible carnage of life and labour
the smell of living, dying and decay
the scream of anger, fear and pain
are memories that linger still
to be triggered, remembered and dealt with again and again
by simple, simple things
we are entwined with the past
memories, feelings, words and pictures
i will always remember
i can never forget
help me to forget
help me to transform
those memories, feelings, times
into distant dim ones
through
little kindnesses
smiles, tenderness, time
to me and to those that need to forget
to everyone you meet
family, friend or stranger
make this your place
where memories and feelings
are to be treasured
enjoyed and shared
where we want to remember
i've lived in the world where
memories should be but cannot be forgotten
i've lived in a world where
feelings go beyond what i can bear
i've lived in a world where
those that should be loved are hated
through insecurity and fear
you don't want that world
i know you don't
i've lived it for you sadly
be kind, be gentle and always remember
everyone has a family
hopes like you
and dreams like you
those that destroy them are just like those that i fought
even if they are just like you
be kind, be gentle, be generous
and
let me forget
so that you never need to forget
too
This is a reflection on Remembrance Day and how my mum and dad struggled with both it and Anzac Day. They did not want to remember, stories of WWII where far and few between and particularly treasured by a teenage me that was enamoured by that war. I can't imagine what it was like for them when I made plastic 1:72 models of instruments of war had they lived with daily during those six years.
My dad was an onderduiker (underground) radio operator. He in allied terms was extremely precious as communications in those days was not quite like today. The mobile phone of the day would have filled a large backpack and probably weighed in excess of 15kg. The mortality rate was 90% as the axis considered them to be what we would now call terrorists.
My mum helped harbour jews in a farm in the countryside. The Book Thief gives you a tiny glimpse into what life would have been like for her and the family she lived with.
To give context, they were just 15 when the war started and 21 when it finished.
(C) Copyright Luke Visser 2014 (written Nov 2014)
