The Afganistan
Buddha, smiling, said: ” explode
Me and my smile now !”
Under a low sun
Evening on the battlefield
All dirty, all dead.
The Afghan Buddha
Blown up by unshaven men
Smiled for one last time.
As I lay dying
On the battlefield, Buddha
Was dying with me
Sullen evening sun,
You mock my dying soldiers,
All their wounds stinking
In Afghanistan
The dirty evening sun dies
Jihadists groaning
Watch their broken jaws
Lie with the battlefield flies,
The dying sun low. * Frank Corcoran 2013 (
grian íseal…
scáileanna ar a dteitheadh
thar mhachairí an áir
a low sun …
shadows flee
across battlefields * Gabriel Rosenstock 2013 (