"mors et fugacern persequitur virum"- My night time in Kabul

I sit in my room, four by four squared,
All the time wondering if a worthwhile quest,
maybe the night time raid I will be spared.
Perchance, I might be lucky to get deserved rest,
night time brings a coalition of morbid fears.
Forever urged on by a rationalisation of thoughts,
one struggles to hold back swirling tears.
As I battle the unending gut wrentching knots.

In all my life, I have yearned to do right,
to provide my family with the utmost best,
enough to come to a land where they fight,
where religious conflict settles all the rest,
providing an active avenue for them to do harm,
on the poor souls who thought only of good,
until they saw the begger boy sans arms,
who surely could have done with food.

If in somelife you could live my fears,
and got to understand solitude's drain,
which I shared with my far away peers,
constantly urged to silently bare the pain,
of living with no family or companion.
For it is all to achieve for those back home,
that we have to give unbridled dominion,
to those that wish that we are gone.

The methods they employ ever so crude,
the palpable tension ever so real.
Nothing delicate about their quest, sheer brute,
they will not negotiate or enter any deal.
Tell my children that someday I will return,
I am here to secure their tomorrow,
quietly I will do my battle, my sanity retain,
Hopefully return with all my marrow.

* Wrote on the evening after several suicide bombings in Afghanistan-30/12/08