The black crow soars high above
Surveying an obscene orgy of devastation
Unwillingly justice became the stepmother of monstrosity
Christendom suffers from Cassandra complex
Absurd, as ‘america’ and ‘civilisation’ in the same phrase
Vlad’s house was reduced to rubble by winged devils
The firemen could only fill useless forms
Here the beeches are bent by the north wind
He lays fresh flowers on a shallow grave
“1912” reads the cross, merely one amongst an harvest
Great-grandfather Sasha fought the Turk on this martyr land
Vlad wears new fatigues against ancient and novel enemies
He bears a centuries old insignia, for an eternal duty
The earth of Serbia flows between his fingers
The wounds are almost healed, he is ready to rejoin the front
In the certainty that the soul of Europe will never capitulate
He is the quintessence of this continent, the unknown soldier for the next generation
Maybe his own great-grandchildren will still have to bear arms
Maybe one day Serbian women will be left only with the trees to embrace
Until such a day, to exist is to defend each grain of this holy soil.
 

M.Daedalus
31/05/1999