“The memories that I remember…”Some days
they tend to imprint themselves
in certain memories forever
while others vanish in the smoke.
It’s like collecting bits and pieces
inside the pile of dusty books,
and aged track from cold,
that very old and highly thirsty
music player from the messy locker.
The memories that I remember
come from different people, clearly.
One arc is about a typical
and strangely outgoing kid,
who sings and dances to the crowd,
desperate to go to school
so committed that he gains a fever;
now he can’t go to school at all.
Then the story, abruptly
changes hands like an old banknote,
singing tale of another kid,
religious, in atrocious clothing,
but the eyes, they full of gratitude and tipsy hope
as he explores the exotic streets of London.
Things changed eventually
as the kid passed on the torch
to another person, who wants to try it all,
but this person’s quiet wouldn’t utter any word.
Torture from the army followed,
that known and familiar torment for him
from those, now native London alleys and tube stations.
Thoughts of ending,
thoughts of struggle, pain, and suffocation
grew within him with each breath
but he continued, day after day
shaking death away that whispered honey in his ears
while he tasted salt from the tears.
Now some people call this soldier “poet,”
as you can see,
that’s quite an achievement for somebody
who did not accomplish much.
Poetry by Vladimir Fischer
Thank you very much for any help!