Dynamic
We flew logistics
Carried food, and the arms, everything.
Passengers were Rangers, and soldiers
Both lively and wounded, also dead in casket.
Our singer Dynamic
A young girl and Petit
Smiled when got on board
Confused, first timer.
Her dress was descent
So was length, of skirt.
“Pull it up a little…” said Aref.
“These young men are soldiers.”
He would be now replaced
Said to her, briefed her.
He is a nationalist, to marrow.
“Give them life, it won’t kill.”
He said and referred to:
“This can mean their last look.”
And it was; many times.
This was all, in Mid-Way
(In mountains, oasis, Salalah)
It was base for the war
Against the communists
(In Yemen)
Had to be united for God’s sake.
(Preachers in London; USA)
Now they are history
(Unwritten as Mohawks’ and Incas’)
What if I, do not write?
It will be like the church; Aboriginals
Raped and killed and looted
Young and old and buried in rubble.
That will be, too cruel…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem