This is the new blog...CONFESSION ZERO
Showing posts with label Afghanistan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Afghanistan. Show all posts

CLEARLY, OPENLY, MADNESS



A huge blast from a suicide car bomb at the gates of the Indian Embassy on Monday killed 41 people in the deadliest suicide car bombing since the American-led invasion of Afghanistan in 2001 ousted the Taliban.

Among the victims of the attack, the first in seven years on a regional diplomatic mission in Afghanistan, were at least four Indian citizens: the Indian defense attaché, a political counselor and two other Indian officials. Six Afghan police officers were also killed. Many of the rest appeared to be civilians. (More at Crooks and Liars...)


Allow us to view madness clearly, openly.
Breathe in the fumes of desolation’s scent.
Let us bring our eyes out of blanched hiding
And allow witness to this; our butchered age.

Allow us to view madness clearly, openly.
Watch as it moves inland with sturdy legs,
Thrashing about with dithering, misery-born arms
Reaching into us and passing through us.

Allow us to view madness clearly, openly.
To witness with the pale face that death wears,
To glimpse our own bony flesh release the pin,
Pull the trigger and loose raging bereavement.

Allow us to view madness clearly, openly.
Hear its bellow of, “God to frowning God!”
Feel its full breadth of fleshy shrapnel
Landing near our children’s supple feet.

Allow us to view madness clearly, openly.
Look back! O! Look back, goddamn it!
Turn such sorry eyes around and look back
At our own grave’s being dug with each bomb.


© 2008 mrp/tpm



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WOUNDED GROUND


Each night I see the moon’s breath `neath the sand...
I sense God’s eyes penetrating the dense haze and brown hands groping openly, willful arms stretched wide searching for children’s eyes, finding those that whimper. Cold fingertips touch my face collecting tears for display.

Each night I hear shrieking of owl or nighthawk and I see resounding beams of an already forgotten light, dancing creatures under the sand, sounds of tin cups and plates rattling our ravenous music.

Hunger’s my medicated craving, not for rations, but for living, panting to glimpse the sun.

Each day a wounded ground walks within my night...

Why do the shadowy vapors tremble so? Have they the trampled spirit within their frail offspring of hope? Might it be the colossal God carrying the virgin jaws to my hour of darkness that’s within my hunger?

Each night I see the moon’s breath `neath the sand...


mrp

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