I lay on the narrow bed
with my mouth open
a mosquito bites my tongue
just when I was dreaming to speak
something about the last war
or the long lasting peace without borders
pointing with the machine-gun
to the insect fallen in a moon’s crater
I wake up with bloody lips
because of too much silence
and words lost on the front
without question marks
like apples of Discord sliced with the axe
like a black box of a guillotined pilot
thrusting deep the champagne cork
to avoid an explosion
I drink only sweet water from a spring
consecrated at day break
„All art is a revolt against man’s fate”
In a military wardrobe
a peaceful blue tapestry was hanging
facing the Commander in Chief’s portrait.
Seashore, ripples, raindrops, white clouds.
Two men sat there talking
about girls, cars, dogs and food.
Will there be a war again?
Today I’m just dreaming my life away
sitting for a while in the waiting room,
fighting, forgetting, forgiving, forsaking
I’m asking you, man.
When you have tamed the knight
to skip the chess table’s squares,
were you thinking
only about snowless wars ?
Between white and black,
striking each other,
including their bishops,
you have decided to banish
all gray shades.
Your horse knelt in his harness
with his sousing curb bit
in that fierce battle
where chivalry clatters and bugles
were singing the last confession for many.
But at a far distance, on unknown pathways,
wild horses were racing like storms,
warming with their hearts
the grasses, the clear blue sky
and the vultures’ flight.