The UN moved, NATO fighters were in the air, like eagles of the sky, they swept the guns away from the Trebević.
He withdrew the devil, returned to the underworld, St. Michael drove him out with his sword and heel over his horns.
Gone too are the wolves, gone from the scene in this theater of blood. A timid dove descended on the table in Paris.
The dead are counted, but hands are few, not enough. They watch the scoops of journalists, the exoduses of people, waiting for a god to call them and tell them: come on, come on, the war is over, go back to your holy land!
Instead, the Italians arrive, they have maps in their hands, they give candy to children, they plant stakes: this way Bosnia and Herzegovina and Republika Srpska, that way Serbia, that way Croatia.
Nena followed the withdrawa
