From unwritten chronicles of war Poem by Eugenijus Ališanka

I was following a cart
achilles tendons taut like cords
were playing the march of retreat
the teeth-bitten sword
scraping over stones glistened
I wasn't last behind me
the line stretched to the horizon
where the red setting sun blazed
the battle was one of many
I don't even know who
we were trying unsuccessfully to invade this time
to impose a new way of life
I myself already lost
this addiction long ago
I am a good enough soldier
to follow orders tell the truth
for a long time I haven't read any of those
whose names are written in the chronicles
more and more often I think maybe
they never existed
imagination drifted from art
into masculine occupations
sometimes I think maybe the enemy is different
maybe not ours maybe not an enemy
maybe I just stumble on a clod of clay
bump my head on the door casing
then rave through the nights
about an avatar of god on earth
avatars of a man in heaven
more often I dream of someplace warmer
somewhere in a curia or chancery
to write letters of condolence to mothers of soldiers
to make out health certificates
though I know how such a life ends
I was dragging into middle age
behind my back an inhuman fire glowed
before my eyes unconquered lands stretched
it was autumn the most beautiful season

Translated by Harvey L. Hix and the author