In the dark night
orphaned mothers
howling.
Corpses cooling up
in the coffins
of the distant war.
Somebody, somewhere
waging war again.
Shrapnel in my bowls.
The war is over;
only
coffins keep leaking in.
Howl mothers, howl!
To a bloody job
your sons are parting!
A middle-aged man
picking up from the pavement
somebody's finger.
Peaceful men
dropping peaceful bombs
from peaceful planes.
The old man
mourns his only granddaughter.
Soldiers in the background.
A picture in the press:
two good soldiers
huddling an orphaned child.
High in the stormy sky
a flag flutters.
The freedom flag.
Konstantin Dimitrov
Sofia, Bulgaria ( Living in Spain )