I lie on the scarred battle field
with bloodied arms and legs
listening to the whistling of the shells
the explosions rock the ground
I see my comrades around me
lying unmoving on the mud
my feeble cries for help
land on deaf ears
The sound of whirring wakes me
a man in a white over coat
moves slowly closer
holding out his hand
as if at a meeting
I wake again
along and in a bed
the doctor comes in to see me
his pale face shows sorrow
As I stand alone in the rain
by the big stone monument
I shed a tear and think
how close it was
for one of them
to be me
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A sad poem. I loved it. If was about you or someone you know hope everyone is ok. Thank you