The soldiers come

suddenly, they shoot
the streets empty, we
don't fight, we take shelter
and crawl through the rooms

We hide ourselves and
survive the attack, afraid
to die, dreaming
of death and misery

Smouldering it gets quiet
Smoke strands, dogs
are smelling at bellies
licking at lips

at cold vomit
in the gutter, a golden ring
lights up between beetles
the wind slams a door

Powder-smoke and stench
Coming to senses
Time to clean up
too late for anger

Only the last
word on the dead
that doesn't do them justice
and will never be able to do so