the sky is measured in wings

last night, i was watching a Spanish movie with English subtitles. it was about the Falklands war and the defeated Argentinian soldiers. also the ones who didn’t return home, about their families and friends. although more engrossed in my ‘work-to-do-for-tomorrow’ and some discomfort in the family, i still caught some snapshots of memories that will stay for a long time.

the tragedy of war, the futility of it all, vividly painted in most humane terms; the haunted imagery; a soldier dying after the war in the hospital; a friend visiting the last known whereabouts of a dead soldier friend, and then finding something, crying aloud with silent tears; the heaviness of a loss when he sits in front of the memorial graves for hundreds of soldiers; grave after grave, lined beside each other, with flowers and trinkets and memories, everything, everything gone for ever…

…and then there were the songs, weaved into an unknown tongue, i could only understand them by the translation, “when i returned home, i didn’t get a hero’s cheer, not a welcoming crowd, no flowers, no glory, but only my mother, waiting in the dark in front of my house”; and “the sea is measured in waves, the sky is measured in wings”…

…don’t know how many deaths we’ll need to measure and bridge the distance between ourselves.