Regrets

How I regret that I

Survived the war

I could be dead

Long time ago

Resting peacefully

In the memory

Of a few

So much better

So much better

Karma

But the winter

Is long as life

Itself

Bad Times

Dying city

Decaying city

Filled with rich filth

Destroying the mind and body

Slowly burning city

Falling apart at dusk

Armed men

Guarding cautiously and attaching their guns to their frail bodies

In case of other frail men trying to take what little gold

They might have

No cash has any worth any more

Only handouts of food and water

And of course the eternal metal

Shining so bright in our dirty hands

Circles

The mind moves around

Like a nervous dog

Sniffing on old

Memories of failure

And abuse

.

What could have

Been done different

Or better

Too late

Too late

Creating a fantasy

That evaporates

In thin air

The mind try to

Rest

But there is no

Refuge in sleeping

Flashback returns

Again and again

Like a beggar

Never satisfied

Never happy

Always demanding

That stones

Turns to gold

.

Peace

War ends here

In the banquet hall

Of a reconstructed

Palace, People and

Places mix

Through the centuries

The essence remains

The same,

Division, refugees, maimed,

Raped, plundered all have

to make life go on if possible

The cry  for Justice run through

The centuries

Boring War

War is a boring thing

Filled with waiting

And cold evenings

Without light and

Heating

Waiting, smoking,

Talking and drinking

Whatever found

On the black market

Money always scarce

A few get rich,

Most people get poor

Everyone would leave

If they only found the

Door

But the war wears on and on

Through rain and sun, storm

and snow people dying all

The time when life could

Be must more benign

Continuum

There will never be an end

Just a continuum of change

A movement between extremes

Like Winter or Summer

Democracy and dictatorship

War and Peace

Construction and Destruction

And in the middle of this

Are we messed up and

Confused trying to get a grip

The end in sight

Only for us as we are

Not for all

The end is in sight

But we never know

What happens

Good

Fear and Prosperity

It is all in the making

We just do not know what it is

The aggressive confidence

Easy solutions to difficult problems

Or just denial of that there are anything wrong

The snow keeps falling,

While we are preparing

Clearing the shelter, cleaning the gun, stocking up

We know, we believe, we fear

Still we know nothing, remember nothing

Real war is still distant, surreal

In silence I prepare my life as an ageing Odysseus

A journey that will last a life time

Without returning to Ithaca

 

Ratata

Distant gunfire from the hill

Then the noise of silence

So many bullets

Flying away

Flying Avery

In every direction

Ricocheting on roofs, walls and trees

Losing the causality

Hitting people and things by misfortune

Lost cases, lost life’s

Empty eyes stirring out in the eternal darkness

Of afterlife

Christmas in Dubrovnik

Moving through  the highly risky

Terrain in a lush green forest

Above the old city

I remembered

The war more than 10 years ago

Still visible with all its

Shellmarks making

Roses on the ground

Telling a distant story

Of terror and death

The war had just ended

At Christmas, just a

Shell fired in the afternoon

From the enemy in order to

Make their presence known

Later that night

The captain shot

His girlfriend in a bar

Not far from the Hotel

The scars lingers under the surface

But surface

Cosmetic beauty  that money can buy

Is what you will see