White bearded – green turbaned,
he walks in rubber shoes –
a woollen blanket on his back.
Treads the winding dirt track
to Pagham, his old home-town;
Afghanistan’s royal showpiece,
fifteen miles west of Kabul.
Now, only ghosts linger on.
Razed to the ground, the King’s
villa with its imported Italian tiles
and the Prime Minister’s...
three kitchens and a golf course.
The white arch of triumph reduced
to a paltry pair of pillars; its top,
blown away...elegant, swan-necked
lamp posts rust where they fell.
The pastel pink walls of the Bahar Hotel,
gape at moody, shell-shocked skies;
on the avenue once lined with nut-trees
and with poplars, four Doric columns
mark the entrance to a pile of rubble
where the mosque had stood.
He returns to say his final goodbyes
to his wife, two daughters and three sons;
shot to pieces by a rocket a year ago.
‘Everyone bombs us now,’ he tells them;
the Government, the Malitia, the mujahedeen.
The plume of smoke he saw rise that day,
shrouding fields and apple orchards
he’d tended all his life – a stench
that permeates his every nightmare.
A door off its hinges – a mound of rocks,
and a slender pole on which a green flag
limply hangs, mark their grave...He picks
a bouquet of red tulips, growing wild
on overgrown, mined lawns; so dangerous
few dare walk on them.
Slowly he kneels - the flowers clutched
tight to his chest with frost-bitten hands
from his trek across the mountains.
“Nothing remains,” he says. No anger
in his voice. Only pain.
Comments
MistakenMagic | March 22, 2010 - 16:41
'The white arch of triumph reduced
to a paltry pair of pillars; its top,
blasted away and elegant, swan-necked
lamp posts rust where they fell.'
- love this stanza, Tina! So much beautiful, yet melancholy imagery and colour. I love the last two lines too! Well done on this one ;)
Magic xxx
Silver Spun Sand | March 22, 2010 - 16:44
Magic - so pleased you liked this one. The story of this man moved me so much that I was compelled to write about him. Thanks for letting me know you too got something from it;-)
Tina xxx
Beeme | March 22, 2010 - 21:19
This is very moving Tina, I love the beautiful imagery you use;
"The plume of smoke he witnessed
rise that day shrouding apple orchards
and fields he’d tended all his life..."
Tragic but you re-tell the story in a poignant and heart warming way, as you so often manage to, truely a gift :-)
Beeme xx
Silver Spun Sand | March 22, 2010 - 21:23
Your words mean much. Thank you for them, Beeme.
Tina;-)xx
Silver Spun Sand | March 22, 2010 - 22:03
You always notice the little things, Julie. And as we both know, little things mean a lot;-)
Your comment much appreciated. Hope you and yours are OK.
Tina xx
Cavalcaderl | March 23, 2010 - 10:49
new Silver-spun-sand
you have done this with
excellent powerful words
of a poet,very sad.
but it's well done.
I like the stanza
The place and smoke he witnessed
rise that day shrouding apple orchards
and fields he'd tended all his life -a stench
that permeates his every nightmare.
julie xx
Cavalcaderl | March 23, 2010 - 10:55
new Silver-spun-sand
Thankyou not really I try
choose different stanza.
Also if can't give a right answer
to anyone, I might see it in a different light.
I don't think anyone thinks really the same way.
Words like to understand is to be understood.
What do you think.
Improving better night thanks.
Mine is still up and down for his back.
Once fell over the low wall here!
We are a lot.Hope your well.
julie xx
Silver Spun Sand | March 29, 2010 - 13:02
Julie - thanks again;-
Tina xx