Love front

What we learnt of love was from novels, stories, and poems. With poverty, frustration, and 
narrow horizons we began to fall in love at dreadful ease, and suffer much more easily. 
Despite that we clung to that love which has no life and existence outside books.
 
 
Defeats in love destroyed many of us, dispersed a lot into vagabondage, and caused many 
others to disappear. Despite that, from time to time some warrior appears; a young man in 
most cases, waving a tattered flag, mocking the crushing weight of reality, and its bloody 
grinding mill. He seems sure that his anguish is more valuable than the Mercedes cars which 
besiege his poor girlfriend, and that true feelings are a mortal weapon which it suffices to 
draw for the battle to be settled.
 
 
We are the disabled victims of this  war, feeling for our scars, meanwhile drinking cheap wine 
with anonymous prostitutes in dark pubs, and pitying every young man who surges from the 
suburbs of towns riding a gifted poem, and entering the front defenceless.

LOVE FRONT