A small unassuming place to make an exit.
A cuckoo’s nest of histories.
A tunnel into the sky.
The dead of Europe, who can count them?
To each a reason, a fate.
At the border, lots are drawn,
Destinies negotiated.
So many secrets in unmarked graves.
The shell game never ends.
The living have one duty:
To lay stones on the graves of the dead.
Who now holds the anxious fortress?
Besiegers and besieged
All post their prayers to the same sky.
There is no-one on this earth without a name.
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