Afghanistan

neonboy17.jpg

A hum penetrates the darkness

As stars gaze down like spotlights

Pointing out those below

Counting them one, by, one

A Western Wind blows

Through streets covered in silence

And carnival lights

A window opens

Where children dwell

Waiting

Pleading for their future

Their hearts resonating

As the hum grows closer

We have all killed here

All murdered, butchered without remorse

Razed cities for expensive clothing

And Flowers 24 hours a day

We have all raped

Riding in immense machines

80 mph 365

We all suffer here

In alley ways

And Empty homes

In crowded rooms

Sterile and shrill

Confessing through paper lips

As our children grow cold

And one day

We will all pay

When the wind grows tired

And the ground refuses to

Bear our weight

When the oceans swell and cleanse

Us of our sins

But in the meantime

A quiet city street erupts

In volcanic heat

As Children cry out

Their screams turn to ash

And the world is once more

Free

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~ by NeonBoy on June 9, 2007.

6 Responses to “Afghanistan”

  1. “And the world is once again

    Free”

    How many more should we “free”?

  2. That’s a good question my friend.

  3. Why afghanistan?

    Why not simply “Third World”?

    I think ‘ inexpensive cloths’ would be closer to the mark.

    The Western Wind probably just saved them from a life time of starvation and abuse, homeless in the streets of Brazil.

  4. “Why Afghanistan?

    Why not simply “Third World”?”

    Because I wrote it two days after we invaded Iraq. I chose Afghanistan because that’s the country we originally invaded. The country actually involved in the attacks on 9/11

    The “hum” is how several witnesses described the sound of the cruise missiles.

    “The Western Wind probably just saved them from a life time of starvation and abuse, homeless in the streets of Brazil.”

    Where did “Brazil” come from?

  5. Brazil is the flavor of the month on late night ‘give us your money’ infomercials. They have a tun of abandoned children there, living in the streets, huffing paint, prostituting themselves. You know, an all American childhood.

    When I read this poem I saw more of that sort of suffering in it than I did of children living in a war zone.

    The war zone sentiments seemed forced on the original theme, if I was wrong, well that’s the way it read to me.

  6. I think that’s what I like about poetry, the parameters are less defined.

    It’s definitely about suffering and exploitation. When I was watching the news witnesses described a “hum” off in the distance and then “BOOM!”. The “hum” was the cruise missiles. That’s why the street erupted “in volcanic heat”.

    I imagined myself sitting at home watching tv or whatever hearing a “hum” and five minutes later the buildings across the street exploding. That’s insane.

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