Jungle Blues

Vietnam… Vietnam
What a war, what a sham.
GI Joe big and strong.
Could not beat the Vietcong.
Rain and mud, mud and rain.
Take the strain, take the pain.
Leaches stick, Leaches suck.
Carry that prick, carry that ruck.
Soaking feet, soaking boots.
Tripping over, wet tree roots.

Coming under heavy fire.
Look out for that thin trip wire.
Booby traps, that can kill.
Climbing up that slippery hill.
Bouncing Betty, Pungi pits.
Keep your nerve, keep your wits.
Venomous snakes, Ants that bite.
Are against you, when you fight.
Hit the deck, in coming round.
Keep your head close to the ground.
Sgt shouts, take some cover.
All you want is your mother.

Dig a foxhole, dig it deep.
For your life, you want to keep.
In the darkness of the night.
The Vietcong control the fight.
Red and Green Tracers everywhere.
The noise of war fills the air.
Hit the Claymores Click…Click…Click.
The sound of screaming makes you sick.
Flares go up and light the sky.
I see the dead, I ask myself why.

Morning comes with the rising sun.
I get up, I pick up my gun.
Off we go down the trail.
Back to camp, must not fail.
Landing zone, up ahead.
Choppers are down, load up the dead.
Dust and dirt, fly all around.
As we leave the battle ground.
Snipers bullets rip through the door.
Into the battle, we go once more.
Take a bullet in the head.
Then you know, you are truly dead.
– M. Stewart

What Every Soldier Should Know

If you hear gunfire on a Thursday afternoon,
it could be for a wedding, or it could be for you.

Always enter a home with your right foot;
the left is for cemeteries and unclean places.

O-guf! Tera armeek is rarely useful.
It means Stop! Or I’ll shoot.

Sabah el khair is effective.
It means Good Morning.

Inshallah means Allah be willing.
Listen well when it is spoken.

You will hear the RPG coming for you.
Not so the roadside bomb.

There are bombs under the overpasses,
in trashpiles, in bricks, in cars.

There are shopping carts with clothes soaked
in foogas, a sticky gel of homemade napalm.

Parachute bombs and artillery shells
sewn into the carcasses of dead farm animals.

Graffit sprayed onto the overpasses:
I will kell you, American.

Men wearing vests rigged with explosives
walk up, raise their arms and say Inshallah.

There are men who earn eighty dollars
to attack you, five thousand to kill.

Small children who will play with you,
old men with their talk, women who offer chai –

and any one of them
may dance over your body tomorrow.

– Brian Turner

Taken from the book “Here Bullet”, an anthology of poetry. We’ve run poems by Brian Turner before.

Solitude

This aloneness is worth more than a thousand lives.
This freedom is worth more than all the lands on earth.
To be one with the truth for just a moment,
Is worth more than the world and life itself.

– Rumi
Translated by Shahram Shiva

Postscript:

I came across this particular poem in a series of posts dealing with Ramadan, and it was so lovely I wanted to share. While the moments of truth (beauty, joy) that we have in our lives are overwhelming, the moments of solitude and quiet contemplation are no less beautiful and necessary. One of my favorite things about waking up early in the morning is this sense of stillness before the bustle of the day intrudes. As I type this out at four-thirty a.m., all I can hear is the morning chorus in fits and starts. The day stretches out before me, unmarked and full of potential.
We’ve run other poems by Rumi here. You can read more about Jalaluddin Rumi here and here.