Friday, November 16, 2007

Bosnia

The land of chalets and flats and mountain huts,
forests and rivers and valleys and such,
small dusty towns, villages lost in mud
in the land of snow and blood.

Summer and winter the war burns on.
The spring rivers rise
bring bodies with no eyes
in autumn they dry
the long-rotted ones arise
from their beds in the mud
in the land of snow and blood.

With hot rage and cold cruelty the men fight on
Revenge and anger and cold calculated killing
The red-and-white checks and the Chetniks are winning
their dead far out-numbered by our million civilians
trodden like the grass of the fields
once rainbowed with flowers
now lost in the mud
in the land of snow and blood.

By hunger and fever this war is won:
in burning ice and in blazing sun
people forced to choose sides are driven from home
to countries so like and unlike their own:
fields of bones in the mud
in the land of snow and blood.

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