AfghanistanGood things take forever, he knows, but this
Is a place that is kind to forever. The way
He and his neighbors live has never changed.
They are the ways by which those here always
Have lived, and, likewise, someone's always
Coming, soldiers brought from far away to
Conquer this unyielding land and those who
Make their homes within it. Greeks have come,
And Arabs, Mongols, Indians and Persians,
British, Russians, now, Americans. The weapons
Change, but little else. He and his neighbors
Have nowhere to go. They have to stand and fight,
To grind down the resolve of these intruders,
And they always do. It's cold today. He huddles
With his rifle on a mountainside. A vehicle with
Men behind it slowly moves along the road below.
He and his neighbors strike. The vehicle bursts
Into flame. The men behind it scream and die.
They join the list of dead invaders. One day,
Someone from their land will say the list has
Grown too long, and they will leave, just like
The others. Good things seem to take forever.
He knows how to wait.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 32 times
Written on 2020-02-05 at 15:22
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