War Poem Poem by Christos R. Tsiailis

These lines are out of order
outside the world
and inside my heart.

Those soldiers are in these stanzas,
fighting for a name or a life.
Searching for the what butterflies carry,
The what peoples call “a soul lost…”
To what the priests cry out “Amen”.

The soldiers are in those words,
that fly in the air,
out of order,
outside the world
and inside our hearts…

And whenever the black message comes to a wife, or fiancée, or mother,
years and events afar,
since we, or you, or they, give names
to the colours of the butterflies,
- Grand-Mime is glad -
[to have made an impression]
to create a memory
that should be in order
inside the world
and inside my mind.
And all I wonder is why,
- and should I? -
or we, or you, or they,
when butterflies live so little.

© Christos Rodoulla Tsiailis
1996