The Road To Kabul

The hustle of the Khyber pass Dusty Dirty Traffic chaotic Pori’s border Like the ground Soaking up my foot prints We move beyond The bus is silent In this barren landscape I look upon the discarded Shells of war Interesting I identify shells From many wars Like a walk Along a beach After a storm An high tide But the storm Still thundering The vision scape Has pockets of green So many gums I could be back In Oz A brief stop Jalalabad The men Decant I stay Watching Looking Out the dusty window Engrossed in what I see The woman and children All start talking and laughing At once The sudden noise Makes me Jump I look around But all I see are ghosts But free The influence Of men The men return So does the silence We move on We pass a check point Then stop Beside a green river I sit on the bank Smoke some hash With old Coco He looks just like The old cameleers From the pioneers We can’t converse But I feel A gentle heart War tired eyes Mountains loom Around us We are about to make The push up To Kabul We join a convoy Of trucks So many trucks All going up And up And up Never been on such A huge mountain And such a narrow Road I look down on the Shells of trucks That didn’t make it Up or down Horns blare Dust stings my eyes But I want to see If I am About to die We plateau And loose the convoy Cruse toward Kabul We stop at the Biggest refugee camp The atmosphere is Stressful Angry Suffocating Claustrophobic Like a humid Wet season day I can’t wait to leave Continue we do The end is here The infamous Soccer stadium Blocks an blocks Of rubble The end Of the road To Kabul