Guard, my brother

guard, my brother

I can hear you walking on the snow

I can hear you coughing in the cold

I know you, brother

and you know me.

I bet you have a photo of a girl in your pocket.

I bet you have a heart in the left side of your chest.

Do you remember?

You used to have an exercise book with sketches of swallows

I used to dream of walking with you side by side

on your forehead a small scar from my slingshot

in my handkerchief I keep your tears wrapped up

your Sunday shoes left behind in the corner of our yard

on the wall of the old house our childhood dreams

written in chalk glimmer still.

Your mother has grown old mopping the stairs of ministry buildings

in the evening she stops at the street corner

and buys some coal from my father's cart

they glance at one another and smile

just as you are loading your gun

and getting ready to kill me.

Your morning eyes have set behind a helmet

you exchanged your childhood hands for a rock-hard rifle

we both hunger for a smile

and a bite of quiet sleep.

I now hear your boots on the snow

you will soon go to sleep

goodnight, my sad brother

if you happen to see a bright star it means I’m thinking of you

as you rest your rifle in the corner you will turn once again into a sparrow.

And when they order you to fire

shoot me elsewhere

Somewhere deep within it your childhood face still lives.

I wouldn't want you to wound it.