The concoction of little pills renders my soul impotent.
Numb to questions of life’s decisions.
Numb to anxiety of shaking hands.
Heartbeats, Banging its fists on my chest.
Numb to the fields of War.
Fields?! What fields?!
Fields of nothing but small particles of grounded glass mirrors.
As I wandered through this Muslim country
of dirty faces and despair of what the future presents.
Mirrors of their reflections stagnate in my sweat.
And this weight weakens me trapped in their prism.
As the mirrors fall….
Catching on the strings of my combat boots
as the dust rises from my dragging feet.
Fallen into my pockets as I ride along
Sitting in my sweat soaked conformity.
In my pockets lay my mother’s letters
and a dog in the grass next to the dandelions.
The mirrors engrave themselves in my once flawless skin.
I carry these mirrors home in the fold’s of my mother’s letters.
And in the green grass and in the speckles on the dandelion’s
Fluffy seeds next to my best friend.
The mirrors drenching my soul with uncertainty and disgust
As I enter my homeland.
They reflect the guilt of returning.
Alas, I drive my car in the freedom and the mirrors
Shine out the bombs in the road.
“Are you alright?” Barks the dog.
“Did the explosion miss you, my daughter?”
Breathes my mother a sigh of relief.
“Check the perimeter, guard the wounded vehicle.”
States the shoelaces.
LOOK OUT! LOOK OUT.
The mirrors jagged edges gash my mind to reel into the present.
Reflections reminding me of the dangers of the cracked desert soil,
Garbage on the road, children screaming stop.
Enemies with cell phones, sitting in towers,
Standing, waiting at the underpass bridge.