Mr. President <br />I'm writing you a letter <br />that perhaps you will read <br />If you have the time. <br /> <br />I've just received <br />my call-up papers <br />to leave for the front <br />Before Wednesday night. <br /> <br />Mr. President <br />I do not want to go <br />I am not on this earth <br />to kill wretched people. <br /> <br />It's not to make you mad <br />I must tell you <br />my decision is made <br />I am going to desert. <br /> <br />Since I was born <br />I have seen my father die <br />I have seen my brothers leave <br />and my children cry. <br /> <br />My mother has suffered so, <br />that she is in her grave <br />and she laughs at the bombs <br />and she laughs at the worms. <br /> <br />When I was a prisoner <br />they stole my wife <br />they stole my soul <br />and all my dear past. <br /> <br />Early tomorrow morning <br />I will shut my door <br />on these dead years <br />I will take to the road. <br /> <br />I will beg my way along <br />on the roads of France <br />from Brittany to Provence <br />and I will cry out to the people: <br /> <br />Refuse to obey <br />refuse to do it <br />don't go to war <br />refuse to go. <br /> <br />If blood must be given <br />go give your own <br />you are a good apostle <br />Mr. President. <br /> <br />If you go after me <br />warn your police <br />that I'll be unarmed <br />and that they can shoot.<br /><br />Boris Vian<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-deserter-3/
