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Bhuwan’s poem: Afghanistan

July 22, 2014

-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.

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.


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