The Soldier Nobody Needs

Everything has its setting sun.
But dawn belongs to night alone — and one
soldier nobody seems to need. Except when war appears —
then they drive him to the front. Away from himself. Away from home.

That’s why he’s always sick. Discontent.
Broke, stumps for hands, his soul torn, unable to mend
a single grief. The years race by — and now he’s the Old Man,
and everywhere the only answer is: "No."

Or: "Wait another year, my friend.
Then — who knows? — someone else will handle it."
"Wait" means never.
Such is the soldier’s fate:

To live, hoping each morning for a miracle.
Only pompous songs sing about him — "We won’t forget."
Lies.

Lying is fine, mistakes are allowed —
but remembering? Pointless.
And taking root in your own land is so hard.
As if you’re not living at all, but imprisoned.

Everything has its setting sun.
If we forget the soldiers —
we ourselves will soon be forgotten.
Dawn belongs only to night…
Yes, to the soldier.
That’s all. Hell.