In my darkest clothes I slink
home from the front at night
stooping along the walls
of the cemetery, crawling
through the ditch around the checkpoint

Mama cries
and pushes me to the rear
to the raked bed
of tulips under the jasmine
where there is some kind of peace

I have to
do what I should do
just like my brother, who lies here
in our secret bosom
because he dared to speak about peace

when neighbouring villagers came
shouting from the barrel of a tank
that we should step aside
for their protection in the name
of the Supreme and the government