Piece of Me
I can still feel the weight of the heat colliding with my face as I first stepped off the plane,
And how beads of sweat would tickle my neck the same as when it rained,
How the harsh odor of the atmosphere would nauseate my nose,
And the courage of a people despite our impose,
I hear the splashing of the Tigris as I kneel to rinse my hands,
And how it felt to think that nothing’s promised, even on promised lands,
From wailing sirens and the buzz of the Phalanx at night,
To the popping of shots and the whooshing of helos in flight,
From the honking of horns and roads without lanes,
To swishing through traffic and the jingling of chains,
I hear the whispers of prayer being broadcast through the air,
And the murmurs of locals and their unwelcomed stares,
To the thuds of percussions from bombs in my chest,
Detonated afar but still rattled my vest,
But of all that I remember, I’m fully aware,
That I've left a piece of me there.
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