The soldier: Fall to Earth without a lament; you, bird in war and coat of arms of patchwork of hell torment: mud and mud, Earth and dust. The constant shaking of the seismic ground we tread on; numb everywhere fallen corpses. The incessant rain; the cold, the snow; prune them, sleep, hunger, fever, fungi sweaty boots, tired hands, flu death; the soul that lies apathetic and inert and this deranged finger that pulls the trigger automatically are all pieces of a hellish box; Pieces of wars: battle front. Profession: Soldier: blood puddled our boots. Mud cover our faces. The mud fills our eyes. Gunpowder invades our noses. Fear pervades our throats.
Death flies over our heads as a Crimson flag, as box of Pandora as a sword of Damocles hanging over our necks invisible and real death. Silence is our sworn enemy; DIN, our best ally, the whistle of bullets reminds us of the fragility of the existence and continuous outbursts inform us about the proximity of the beasts to our around everything is blood and members crippled languishing without owners and bodies mutilated without air in his lungs and a sea of smelly corpses decomposing and a dream that has become violent nightmare. Defend the homeland: phrase that made much sense before you begin this Odyssey; and that nothing means between shots and dementia what is the homeland? What OK a seeding homeland of corpses? The border problems and the disputes between Nations should be resolved in a pugilistic quadrilateral; facing the Presidents, Ministers, Assembly members and other dogs of war; realizing punching each other until they bleed even their dark souls and not making widows and orphans in the battlefronts. Kill or be killed: bullets destroy bodies and souls eat souls blood is mixed with the whistles aurora and explosions clasping the ears is not another remedy that save our lives killing to the enemy killing the enemy killing kill or be killed: that’s the only motto that remains for us, the only law records what to expect.