the days after the war

after the war ended
i was stranded.
my ears pierced through the silence.
for some minutes there was only noise,
in my head i was already on shore.
i guess i hid my head in known arms,
i don't know.
i guess i cried in foreign lands,
i don't know.

but once the war ended i felt
i was neither on the winning
or the losing side.
i was somewhere in between.
in between fold mountains
of my own worst fears,
striding through the cold ice waters of the better days,
how i would catch my breath and run;
i felt so safe then.
i feel no safety now.

there is absolutely no way of knowing
when it is going to come,
but there are wars you can't hide from.
they start in the hospital caf├ęs and the cute waiter who won't acknowledge you
among all the other faces.
it begins with you accepting
that you are scared
and running away from home
for no better reason
other than facing the shame of staying.

the only thing i wish
i had known before
is how strong i could be.
how much pressure a human body
can resist.
i wish i knew 
that once you come as defeated
you have to pack, leave,
and move on.
no one will stay for so long to mourn with you,
a pat on the shoulder and they are gone.
nobody will understand your intentions
and you'll pretend to be okay.
you'll find it hard
to get up in the morning
and get through the day,
to wash the dishes
and sleep the emptiness away.

after the war ended
there was more noise.
the guns that have fired
are ready to load.
here comes the aftermath,
here comes the end.
here come the nightmares
and your own private hell.