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.
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