The Hindu Kush.

This is the poem that hubby wrote when he was in Afghanistan. I thought I would share it here.

The Hindu Kush

Hoplites, Tommys, Cossacks, soldiers all,
And now us; our boots, our sweat, our blood, our tears
Challenged the landscape of the Hindu Kush
A century now, perhaps two
Others will come, soldiers all
To harden their youth
And the wind will call in spring,
down from the mountains of the Hindu Kush.

Hard grubbed sparkles;
Rubies, emeralds, sapphires, tourmaline's.
Beneath the solders path now silent of booted echo
Mountains, eternal so
Commenting not on a transit soul
Jealous land, hard bitten and hard bite
Burns bright in summer time,
wind, hot, dry breath
down from the mountains of the Hindu Kush.

Cool winds hint of autumns change.
Flash of fire, echoed thunder not of natures work.
Medics call, tender hands lift broken friends.
Soft cries from those still living.
Carried by the winds from the mountains of the Hindu Kush.

A helicopter came,
The commander’s solitary walk to greet his soldiers.
We in formation, attention, others standing, pausing in the days work,
Just this morning time, my wish, this day to hurry to its end.
Engines shut down , now quiet.
No worries about time coming home from those mountains.
They left the helicopter one by one, carried by their comrades and place upon a flag draped truck.
Quiet.
Except for the wind that comes down in winter from the mountains called the Hindu Kush.


K.W. Pearce 2006/2010