Afghanistan

by Bhuwan Thapaliya

No glass in the windows
a shell hole in the roof

wretched tanks, old
fighter –jets and rust- kissed guns

lie around
as discarded toys.

In the distance
Traits of dust

Rises from
Anglo-American vehicles

Running after
Taliban cocoons.

Fighter –bombers
Passes overhead repeatedly

Cough- cold- and
Stomatch bug rules.

Nearby,
a seven year old child

picks up
dried animal droppings

-the wild trees
are gone.

Hills are all
barren brown

- chocked with pebbles and mud
is the Kukcha river’s throat.

American soldiers marches on

the memory of Vietnam still
hangs heavily on their core.