Young men and women do volunteer
To fight for their country to the death, showing no fear
Their orders arrive just as they would
Off they go overseas in the hopes of doing good
Then there’s reality, oh the shock
Our core cultural values, by their ways they do rock
Women are property, used for sex
Sold to the highest bidder, the western mind perplexed
Wanting to react, but told they can’t
They turn a blind eye, though to each other they do rant
Lying in their cots, many tears shed
This war was not what they thought, they have all been misled
Romantic ideas, wars of the past
Live only in the movies there’s no way they could last
War is not romantic, kill and maim
Each victim has a mother and each face has a name
Someones left mourning, crying revenge
Seeking to draw blood, to honor loved ones they avenge
How do pray tell, will this cycle end
When it’s all about oil, our interests they pretend
After a decade, I doubt it will
The military industries haven’t had their fill
When this war ends another will come
Reasoned by our government, just watch and see their fun
Be sure and take my word, more will die
No matter how we complain, no matter how we try
As always, our young will volunteer
Believing propaganda from mongers they will hear
Gung-ho with ideals, noble ‘tis true
Witnessed in commercials they’re the brave, the proud, the few
Til God forbid the time ever comes
You gaze into their eyes, pull the trigger of the gun
From that moment on your life will change
You become a killer, a feeling that must be strange
Hoping that the reasons are pure, true
To live with such an action, the rest of your life through
Mourn for those who died and those alive
They will never be the same no matter how they strive
Mourn this generation raised with war
Think about the reasons, they are poisoned to the core
What kind of legacy will we leave
One that’s draped in death, they are constantly left to grieve
Can this end before it is too late
I pray that it can or destruction will be our fate
~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~
NOTE: Origination Afghanistan – a landay has only a few formal properties. Each has twenty-two syllables: nine in the first line, thirteen in the second. The poem ends with the sound “ma” or “na.” Sometimes they rhyme, but more often not. In Pashto, they lilt internally from word to word in a kind of two-line lullaby that belies the sharpness of their content, which is distinctive not only for its beauty, bawdiness, and wit, but also for the piercing ability to articulate a common truth about war, separation, homeland, grief, or love. Within these five main tropes, the couplets express a collective fury, a lament, an earthy joke, a love of home, a longing for the end of separation, a call to arms, all of which frustrate any facile image of a Pashtun woman as nothing but a mute ghost beneath a blue burqa. The full description and some history of the form can be found at poetryfoundation.org. I took some liberties with this form as it does not translate perfectly into English. I did maintain the 9 and 13 syllables per line format, but eliminated the “ma” or “na” ending sound requirement opting instead to rhyme which can occur with this form.
