THE NOISES OF WAR
The sand on the shore bathed in foam waved constantly. The solo hike would culminate in the stone mountains marked by each millenary era. Reddish, black, with embedded algae, pearly shells, entangled in porosity as a single matter.
|The logs silenced on the shore, perched on sandbanks, looked like warships. They surprised me and swallowed my body to the waist.||wroclaw.naszemiasto.pl|
The torrent of water, was like glass, between cascades eroded the walled walls without any explanation, infinite cracks extended, until joining with the red blood of the shore. As indicating my destiny; flee from mortars, the thunder of death in the belligerent conflict of the absurd...
|Trapped forever, in my prison out of combat. Silence and sadness led me to take refuge at the foot of a mountain;||lamenteesmaravillosa.com|
With signs of torture on my humanity, the damage to my mind being the worst scar.
I must travel the archipelago diagonally, the depth of the water a few meters from the shore is immense, the coral formations would tear apart my body when swimming against the surf. I better continue on the ground, I still have the strength to face melee.
|Constant is the numb cold, feeling of panic that brings me to my knees, a weight of so much light, the colors of sand, sky and sea.||iberoeconomia.es|
I need to hide, my oppressor hides stealthily in the fog.
I will end up building a raft, but the blue sea becomes my worst enemy.
Between clouds of a sunny day, I could hear the engines, in their new strategy to come by the deserters. I will sleep hugging a rifle forever, I will check my trench and minefield every day.
|They were years of evil, of misery. I wield a hand grenade; I hear the cries for help...||iberoeconomia.es|
and the mobilized component from east to west.
I had a lot to lose but I have kept my life, that is something that is not at stake now. They will look for me under the rocks if necessary, they will jump over my neck at the slightest carelessness.
Even in this heavenly place, far from civilization. What is worth a medal of honor and the uniform hung between tiles.
My stress - traumatic post - becomes my ally, my torture, my invisible paranoia and every day prevents me from a new attack.
Because the noises of war chase me wherever I go.
Although some time ago, the war is over...
I hope you enjoyed reading.