I lack complete memories there exists but fragments
From incidents that took place sometime ago
Like ricochets left behind in the wake of a fired bullet
They contain no context nothing tangible to recall
But abstract retentions from the distant past such as my father’s voice
Or my mother’s smile intertwined with my brother s laugh
My company psychiatrist diagnosis is PTSD
I whole heartedly object and resentfully disagree
It was like this before the second Gulf even before Kandahar
Ever before the war broke my bleeding heart
The immortal last words of Andy to his best friend Red
Pretty much sums up my infatuation on lost time and absent reminiscences which I won’t evoke
As I choose not to because I rather not; hence I quote
‘’You know what the Mexicans says about the Pacific
They say it has no memory
That’s where I want to live the rest of my life
A warm place with no memory’’
Shed some light on the smoke covered town
That breathes nothing but the bombs from the sky coming down
Shed some light on the shadows of the dead
With the swing set squeaking softly as the sky turns red
Shed some light on the bodies never meant to be seen
Expelled from society; their lives never being clean
Shed some light on the hand
That draws people in the sand
Does it belong to a child?
Broken dreams they have piled.
Spread awareness and encourage contributions to aid the crisis in the Middle East.
Do you like it much
killing every day,
do you really think
they'll pay you on death?
Do you enjoy
living on the war,
don't you seek for peace
happiness and bliss?
There's always a way,
even more than one,
like there's more than one book
to open a mind.
There's more than one God
to find and to love.
There's always a way,
if seems like there's none.
Can I touch your hand?
Can I hug you, please?
Don't be scared, I know,
I know how you feel.
*Poem written shortly after learning from the news about today's Taliban suicide bomb attack on Afghan forces which killed 13.
4,000 More Light Casualties
A group of journalists arrived from Moscow and were told that the Afghan National Army…had taken the ridge. (They) were posing for victory photographs while our soldiers lay in the morgue.
-Svetlana Alexeivich, Zinky Boys: Soviet Voices from the Afghanistan War
A touchy old man who never went to war
Now poses with his decorative generals
In their tailored Ken-and-Barbie battle dress
All prepped for combat in the officers’ clubs
New president, same as old presidents
And generals, awarding each other medals
And promotions for their golden resumes’
For sending not-their-children off to die
While they prosper on defense industry bids,
Afghanistan is the graveyard of our kids
(Shhhhhhhhhh…Don’t disturb Congress; they’re all asleep.)
We moved quickly in the night,
our weapons heavy in our hands.
We fought fiercely through to a ****** dawn,
making our final stand.
Those among us that died
were the heroes of the tale,
those that died were the lucky ones.
The rest of us, the ones denied a warrior's death
had to return home.
We were the ****** few
shattered and broken boy soldiers
left to fight the war
still raging inside our broken minds