Wounds

By the end of year,
In the barracks,
Will there be soldiers left?
I'm here to find out.
I've nothing to do this summer
I just scavenge for tags.
Upon finding my brother's
I screamed, as a gunshot
So, no one heard me crying.
War has damaged me,
I can not enjoy the bird's songs again
For there's no tree left, standing,
Or see the red horizon at sunset,
Without tears in my eyes.
When the war will be over,
They can just bring health to my body
But what good can they do to my soul
That is rotten and gone astray
What good can they do to my friends?
Who are gone down the silt and mud.
What good can they do to my village?
Which is on the map no more
What good can they do to my nation?
Whose unity is untied like straws of wheat.
What good can they do to my wounds?
Which are too bad to heal.