Please, would you proofread my poem.


There was a handsome young man in my hometown,
a diver like I have never seen before.
His body supple and suntanned, his lean face sat in concentration,
one could have believed it was an eagle plunging into water.

Silence would fall like a heavy shroud over the river,
everyone on the bank gazing at him in awe.
A brave man he was.

One day I went to the river.
A few boys were kicking football on the grass.
Where is Flier, I asked.
He's been killed, one of them whispered,
as well as his brothers, his father and all men from the street.
On that day water was bitter cold,
piercing my body like a knife.

I took a short bath and hurried home.
The war was still going on and a neighbour killed a neighbour
in a cruel, meaningless fight.

Since then I became a refugee,
moving from place to place like a wrecked ship on a wild sea
unable to find peace for my troubled soul.
Only rivers understand my sorrow, their sisters brimming in my eyes.