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Soldiers

My father and mother were soldiers.
My uncle was a soldier.
His helicopter was flying towards his soul.
My mother and father were injured and died.
They were lost in the brutal traces of terror.
What drove me was the image of my child body.
We parted on the dark night journey.
They delivered my body in my infancy.
Far away my uncle found it.
We flew and descended from the sky into the heart of the Island.
She left her helicopter at the point of surrender of her soul.
I said goodbye in tears as I left the island.
The storm was sweeping.
The dogs bit our body while bouncing off the sinking boat.
I threw away the sausages I kept on my trouser.
We started running in our heart rhythm that wanted our breath.
Yes the hum of dogs has gone away.
We hid under the seat in fear.
The box of needles plunged into our body with its merciless end.
I felt the new life and the new life with the tip of a needle.
The hands that erased my memory always hurt my head.
Blows twisted in my life.
Journeys and new people were beginning a new line of life.
The measurelessness of my time brought back memories.
She was afraid when she returned to the past in the traces of light, power, new life, new life.
Despite everything, I remember.
My family at the campsite was smiling painfully.
I was remembering the cold night of death over and over again.
We are soldiers, we are soldiers.

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