Where is the Love?

Sapper Jones – his first tour of duty;
distant gunfire scared the shit out of him.
Scuffs the sand with his boots; watches
the moon climbing ever high.

He marvels as sprites – red, blue and green
dance on Sirius, and right overhead –
a crèche of stars.

Hard to take in – in a few hours, or so,
that same moon would rise over
the rooftops of Brick Close;
a world away from Registan.

If he could get the hell out of there
he would too...but then again, would he?
What about his plans; what he’d hoped
to achieve?

He was an engineer; building roads
and bridges – his passion, and yet for why?
To see them blown to smithereens...
like his best mate, yesterday?

Wisps of thin, white cloud, shredded
the moonlight, and he gets to wondering
if there really is life up there, somewhere,
and if so, did whoever – whatever
they were, believe in a god?

His god was love, or so they spouted
at Sunday school, when he was a lad,
so where was He now? Where was love
now, for fuck’s sake?

Sweat ran down his forehead,
mingled with the dust as the sound
of gunfire grew ever closer.

‘A coward got scared and quit.
A hero got scared and carried on’...
or so his dad always said.

Lights a cigarette – unfolds
a letter from home. A photo
flutters to the ground, and a teardrop
falls on a kid’s button nose.

Wipes it with his sleeve;
whispers, 'Night-night, son.'
And back home, a little boy stirs
in his sleep.