As a child, I once asked my father what war was like,
and he looked at me with tears in his eyes.
A proud Canadian with a Hungarian Flare,
my father fought the Soviets many years ago.
He usually never talked about his experiences to be true,
keeping to himself a history that needed to be spoken,
a history of true intimacy and interior belief,
a history that affected both your family and mine each day.
War is a destroyer that myth has uplifted long ago,
so young people would flock to the recruiting polls.
Fight for your country was the eternal battle cry,
but the truth was soldiers struggle and fight their enemy,
for each other, soldiers who became their siblings indeed.
As a young man, my father raised his fist against an empire,
a system that murdered and oppressed others each day.
Many a friend died fighting for a piece of freedom's promise,
in a land that never had seen a democratic process.
Eternal efforts by farmers, student,s and workers unite,
against tanks, snipers, and secret police oppressive delight.
Defeated by sheer numbers, many fled their land,
in search of a place where freedom could be rooted again.
To Canada, my parents came, to a land living in peace,
where self-expression was encouraged and not crushed oppressively.
To the soldiers who fought in wars everywhere global,
a testament to your honour, courage and valor.
My family, neighbors and friends do mightily acclaim
Your gift of service, your lives, and trust those days,
brings forth love, hope, and a cherished divine.
Your sacrifice will never be forgotten, my friends,
For what are we, but your brotherly band.
History shows the average soldier mighty at last,
never forgotten and eternal at last.
Steven Kaszab
Bradford, Ontario
