This is the newest piece in The Philosophical Verses (Vol. 2).
This is not a political poem; it’s just sad.
Kabul, Afghanistan
August 26, 2021
When all hope is lost,
terrified people will affix themselves to
the sides of departing jets,
rather than face the surging terror.
Death from the fall is preferred
to death at its murderous hands.
No words come to create
the second stanza of a poem
that so begins.
This poet cannot align that thought
with any other image,
and blessedly so.
That might beg the question
of whether there’s even enough here
for a poem at all.
Perhaps it’s the manner of subject
that would best be treated in prose.
But around here, to treat
such a subject in prose would be
to send a call to all
to come and cast their blames and
to stand their party lines,
and that would add injustice
to these lives so torn apart.
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