In the trenches we wait
Rain pouring down
Our mud-soaked uniforms
Pasted to our bones
We wait
Puff on a cigarette
A deck of cards
A broken box
And a tin can meal
We wait
Passing the time
The bullets fly overhead
Occasionally
And sometimes we hear
The screaming
But most of the time
We block it out of our minds
And wait
Sleeping where we stand
Until someone gives the order
And it’s our turn to die.
(Previously published in The Hold, June 2003)
such soft smooth words almost peaceful until the final words crash with utter brutality into the mind time for tears a strong work
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thanks for this one, there is too much war sadness! !