When I Came Home To Mezyn

When I came home to Mezyn on the banks of Desna river, no wine tasted good to me. I shall rest a few days before returning to trenches filled with stench of death. The tranquil farm, the clean sheets, the pillows spread, the home-made bread. The moon softly creeps, I fall asleep and wake in the middle of the night, my head filled with horror -- the mutilated bodies, the fierce firefights, the civilians piling on the sidewalks, the starving dogs, the charred tanks. And yet, I shall be a happy man again, rifle in hand, nodding to duty, the higher calling to be free.