Loaded in a truck like cattle,
We long for embrace of our spouse,
With rubber hooves and horns of metal,
On our way to slaughterhouse.

Upcoming fight is for our nation,
And so with zest of the cattle,
Not excited, calm and patient,
We are being brought to battle.

Meanwhile I can’t help but wonder,
About what seemingly no one sees,
Who are those men over yonder?
What makes them my enemies?

This fight has not been my choice,
And it seems a mad demand,
To give lives of thousands boys,
For mistakes of one ‘niemand’.

This is not my war,
I did not support its rise,
For the sake of filling stores,
We bring about our own demise.

I am afraid I won’t survive,
But also that to return,
I will have to take a life,
And such right I did not earn.

It would be a treason to defy,
Those we have sworn to respect,
Yet, as foolish as it is to fly,
It is the only sensible act.

I know how to save many lives,
But I will have to end one, still,
I shout at last, to deny the lies,
“If I am to kill anyone, it’s the one who makes me kill!”

by Martin Krč

Year 2, Issue 2