In the grass-sea a-buzz with the flies
growing fat on the faeces
and corpses the vultures have left,
I gaze at the battle-field sky,
carelessly blue — the same
as it was when we waited
and be slaughtered
adrenalin-anxious we watched
how soldiers (our foes),
were doing and being the same.
I whisper your name,
you being dust, assassin and martyr,
and that Winchester-rifle
you treasured as much as your
My pony is graced
by the grass growing rich
from the flesh of my brothers and foes;
carelessly grazing the battle-field
my horse reminds me
how senseless our banners and causes
as the sky is as carelessly blue as before.
So this photo of a cow-girl on a horse made me think of all the dark stories on how “the west was won”. Just fiction but of course as a man I have thought a lot of what it could have meant if I was forced into killing. I did my service as most men in Sweden did, and I look back to myself with a gun and what I could have done.
November 17, 2019