For Afghanistan

I remember

floating down in a DC10

high above your sand scarred landscape.

Bullets were flying in Kabul, even then,

and we could not stay and see

but were removed, despatched, transient.

It was 1982

when I made fleeting acquaintance with you

and I had hoped, one day,

to return. Anew.

But now, the only offering I can make

is to place an orange flower in a green, gold vase

and hope, wish, it might burn bright for you

in this time of stunting, brutal war.

And trust that

in some desert flowered future view

Afghanistan 🇦🇫 might green once more.