Giorgio Brandolini

Barracks In The Desert - Poem by Giorgio Brandolini

Let's go to the Kaf again,
the lon'ly Kaf under a shining sky,
bright in the sunny light,
hot in the dusty days,
strong as the bold GIs
that in the fest tents lay,
after their turn away,
breathing the warmest winds.

Let's go to the Kaf again,
to noisy couches bent
under the backpack weight
until we fall asleep,
unworn of beige boots
thrown down the tactic caps,
in creaking bunk beds lines
on smelling, sweaty sheets.

Let's go to the Kaf again,
to sip brown coffee mugs,
to buy the crispy cookies,
to dance a samba swing,
to grasp the water bottles
that pile in every room,
to restore a worn out body
of long walks in the sun.

Let's go to the Kaf again,
a humming bunch of sand,
of hangars and metal sheets,
where twenty nations meet
where dines my own platoon.
We meet and chat of friends,
the brood cast from the nest,
the young that won't be grown.

Let's go to the Kaf again,
to punch for unknown people
to spread safe livelihoods
across the plains and seas
where safe but shivering in awe
a family removed from glee,
a daughter, a wife, a mother
joins hands to pray for me.

Let's go to the Kaf again,
the meeting point of many
that still dream of their homes
amid humvees, mines and bullets,
or paper mounds and desks
reporting of slain mates
lost out in the grey desert
the best from our bred.

(To W. S. whose will makes the difference in the desert)

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, May 14, 2011

Poem Edited: Monday, May 16, 2011

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