Top Cover Man

 

That freezing morning he looked so cold,
Baggy uniform and not very old.
This warrior’s day has just begun,
Top cover man and a machinegun.

Top cover man a tough place to be,
Whatever unfolds, he shall see.
But there are moments – it has its time,
As a target he is prime.

Top cover man scans left and right,
His eyes adjust to day and night.
Our safety in his hands, we feel at ease,
His fingers across a trigger tease.

Top cover man he will shout and call,
Tastes the dust and take the fall.
But as you enter safely back into base,
Cast an eye up and thank that smiling cold face.

An Afghan Man

 

Brown faced, deep dark eyes,
Long beards they look like spies!
But watch that smile, a toothless grin,
You cannot help being drawn to what’s within.

Their hair so dark for half their life,
Then early to grey, harsh living filled with strife.
All furrows and lines we expect with age,
In their book comes quickly, just turn a page.

Their work is hard, no shortcuts to ease the day,
Resting only for prayer, there is no play.
Resourceful chameleons achieving all they can,
Inside every man - a proud Afghan.

An Afghan woman

 

Her face may be smooth, her hands could be rough?
Her day is hard; this woman’s life is tough.
A crumpled blue Burka to the floor,
Hiding her face, her sole and much more.

Her face may be smooth; her hands could be rough,
I don’t want to stare and I just can’t see enough.
Her body still, behind the viel no show of life,
Sat on the pavement, is she a wife?

What is her destiny? Has she a choice?
A silent stare her only voice.
Standing slowly she begins to walk,
Passing silently it’s deadly to talk.

She lives in her world, a private place,
Burdened and busy leave her space.
Was her face smooth, or her hands rough?
For an Afghan woman, life is tough.

Living His Life

In the sack he flicked the can,
Quick as a flash and off he ran.
Then another ditch diving right in,
Rummaging through another’s bin.

Hands so small; stained and black,
Tearing open that grubby old sack.
With enquiring mind and hawkish sight,
He finds trinkets and treasure shining bright.

He kept on digging that boy of seven,
As if it was his chosen heaven.
But his only option to earn a crust,
Live his life from the Afghan dust.