A poem for ,the unknown Iraqi – and for soldiers everywhere,Posted: May 24, 2012
the unknown Iraqi, anonymous, at least, to me,
lies sprawled and dead
and splayed across my TV screen.
Alone, forlorn, tattered,
The unspoken agony of the recently deceased.
His shoe is smudged with desert sand,
The socks, grey, thin and
Mouse – like feet.
Killed in action?
Killed in anger?
Killed in the frantic scramble –the near paralysis – of impending defeat?
He is gone.
He is mute.
One end result of a game that’s been played many thousands of times,
A scene replayed across the ages,
As one “just” war (and it’s own war crimes) concludes –
And recrimination rages.
War makes of peace, a miser,
And the unknown Iraqi lies dead, and,
Unlike me, unlike us,
Cannot grow any older, and yet be
None the wiser.