And They Fight

AND THEY FIGHT

Living at the farthest extreme, the border where the nation ends, not the land,
in the trenches, at the highest wilderness of rarified heights,
stuck in the marine for months
facing the broadsides and answering back,
they live. Yes they live, not for the nation
which has long become a myth,
not for the family who they cannot see;
they live; they with the knowledge that the mate alongside
is another soul, sharing a life , the self-same flesh and blood
simply living in another body.
The salt he eats is shared with those bodies, the honour cherished is for the sake of those bodies,
the flag he fights for is of the battalion he belongs to,
and nothing else matters.
Fighting and living and knowing that the mate is still with you,
you suddenly turn when the volleys stop,
and find him dead, just motionless, still,
a martyr, not a sound had escaped from his mouth, not a slightest signal to warn.
You have to carry on. War just claimed another body, another buddy,
a NO BODY, a mate of yours.