Red And Yellow

I do not remember my birth
But I can tell and remember my
Baptism by fire.

My childhood was the conveyor belt,
Linear, same as all my comrades,
And because of that, it is irrelivant.

We were taught of the 'True Way';
Of the do's and do not's
That would keep us safe from the enemy.

The came that fateful day
Where my fate was seeled;
A day of handshakes and tempering.

I was sent off to the countryside,
To get my paintjob, to cast
Myself down the drain, To become one with my comrades.

Stained with paint that I would later shame;
Yellow, the colour;
I chanted the chant of chanting.

'I am The Hammer, let me crush my enemy;
I am The Sickle, let me cut the wretched;
We are The Loyal, let us paint the blood-stained
bandages of the enemy dead
With the yellow tools of domination.'

I was not the only one dis-illusioned;
We all were; With work and bread,
Who needs to question he whom
Stretchs out the hand?

I was sent on many tours;
Saw the scenery;
Did my duty;
O, What I saw could fill one hundred sadistic sonnets.

But when I returned, Communism was dead.
The red flags being washed of the blood
That had stained the nation for so long.
But those who killed it branded me a demon.

And so I lay in this street,
Watching the first snow start to lay,
And I start to think
Was it better yesterday?