Eyes

Three days we carried you gathered in our arms,
in our gleaming eyes, pain and sorrow,
and every drop that dripped from your wound
fell on my heart like a bleeding ember.

Our comrades were exhausted and hungry,
their throats burning, their shoulders hunched;
with dull pain they peered into your cold eyes,
fearing that never would they blaze again.

But I knew that once more they would flare into flame
and beneath them our fighters would flourish and grow,
on cold mornings they would bring warmth like the sun
and never would dim, never burn out.

On that last night in the mountain village,
our fighters all in tattered clothes,
their feet heavy and stinging with blisters,
their faces worried, as worn out and cold
as their rifles were numb and empty—
there flowed like the sound of a distant river
from ear to ear a barely audible whisper:
“Comrade, fierce battle awaits us at dawn,
and we are so few—just a handful of souls.”

When this news like a needle bore into your ear,
your body started shaking, sorrow flashing,
and with eyes of storm, wide and free,
you split the night with furious lightning.
Like that time before—you remember, dear comrade—
that freezing night in early spring,
when our youth, when the very first joy we shared,
was mowed down in anger by a hoarfrost of shells,
and with a grimace you leapt like a tigress
into the black and bleeding night—
in an instant, with eyes spewing fire,
you melted the deadly pellets of iron.

And later! And later, on that last night—
I don’t want to think about what came next!
I only recall how the bleeding wound wrenched you,
and your whispered farewell froze on your lips,
but your eyes still burned beneath your thick lashes!
With their flame and a sacred oath in my breast,
I left with the others into the ambush.

In the morning, as gunpowder dusted our brows,
no longer were you among our number,
but our fighters were seething with bitter revenge,
and I saw it! Oh, I saw it: when the battle began,
all were emboldened by your strength and valor—
they were swift as deer and nimble as birds.

And it was your eyes sparking with fury
in each of their sweaty, raging faces . . .

Three days we carried you gathered in our arms,
in our gleaming eyes, pain and sorrow,
and every drop that dripped from your wound
fell on my heart like a bleeding ember.