I have walked, I have crawled almost half of the world,
my battalion engaged in fierce fighting.
Then a journey back home. For the merit I’ve earned,
on a hospital train I was riding.

On a passing-by vehicle I caught me a ride
to my doorstep to great satisfaction.
There I stood, lost for words, watching smoke slowly rise
o’er the roof - in a different fashion.

But the windows were scared to look me in the eye,
and the lady avoided her soldier:
she did not hug my chest with a passionate cry,
but she threw up her hands with a howler.

As the dogs on the chains promptly started to bark,
I stepped into the shadowy hovels.
Something foreign was there, and I tripped in the dark -
through the door - and my knees quickly wobbled.

There he sat at the table - my favorite spot -
the new master, unfriendly and hostile.
But the jacket is donned, and the mistress betrothed,
that is why I was barked at by mongrels.

Well, that means that when I, under shelling, would race,
not a moment there ever was idling,
he decided to move all the things in my place,
rearranging it all to his liking.

God of War has observed us in every attack:
the artillery shelling would drain us,
but a terminal wound found its way from my back,
lodged itself in my heart with betrayal.

And then bending my back in a bow unreturned,
I had summoned my will with an effort:
"Please excuse me, comrades, for I’ve made a wrong turn,
and I came to your doorstep in error.

Peace and love to you both, and sufficient supplies,
and agreement that’s constantly present..."
He just listened to me without batting an eye,
as if that is the way he expected.

The unpainted floor wobbled, and feeling bereft,
I did not slam the door - that’s disdainful.
Just the windows re-opened themselves when I left,
and were staring at me, looking blameful.