The Garden Road

A lot of young men with a lot of guns

The cement floor is cold; and
still is; for the blood has dried.
The small pools crust along the ground;
with prints of military boots intact.

Here, in the garden road,
along this floor
we grow anger
we grow love, too; and
many a heart; sore.

I walk along the garden road; the road watered
with waters red; their blood
seems a river that cuts cement and stone.
Two fell there, now; three under my feet; and
in the distance; four
And resting here, in peaceful sleep
I find some more.
It has been long since their roar; like them
died away.

I crouch down beside him
His eyes frighten me
I see in them my own leaving; from
this tiny world; I continue my search
for it is not him.

The boy along the garden road
The boy with the tranquil face,
the military outfit that does not fit,
the hole through the heart, the half-loaded gun
he is not my son.

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4 comments

  1. Hmmm… somewhere *maybe the ending* reminded me of this poem : “Incident of the French camp” … google it, its a nice read :D. Nope, me no support war, but that poem was one of the ………… hmmmm….. lets just say …. emotional / moving …recitation poems we were made to memorize for poetry competitions back in school! So, is chem making you see all red! lol worry not – chem does have a way of doing that to people 😛

  2. So, I’ve sort of named your blog as a recipient to the Kreativ Blogger Award because I think you deserve it. Check my latest post for the details if interested =)

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