Although I went to war, I was among those lucky soldiers who made it through without any major injuries, physical or otherwise. Not all Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Marines were so lucky, and for many of them it took a while to come to terms with their experiences. In this poem I tried to capture some of the memories that many veterans have to deal with. ----------------------------------------------- IM OK You needn’t worry, I’m OK. I really am. I’m fine. It’s very kind of you to ask, but no, I don’t have nightmares anymore. No restless nights, no fears. Not like before. And as I sometimes like to say, I haven’t had to kill in years. But jokes aside, I’m fine, and I don’t mind if people ask about the war and all the rest. It’s been a while, after all, and I suspect, to look at me, you’d never guess the things I’ve done and what I’ve been, and still might be. You cannot see that part of me. You can’t detect the things I’ve kept behind the wall— the images, the darkness, or the ache that lies within. They can’t be seen. You can’t look in. Unless you’re looking through my eyes. But even then you might not tell, because we baby killers hide it well. They used to call me that, you know. The kids that marched for Uncle Ho. They chanted “Stop the draft!” and “We won’t go!” and sang of love and peace for all— just not for me. Oh, no. They hated me. So much that some would spit at me. Because, you see, I had the gall to be alive when I returned. Because I didn’t feel ashamed, and wore my uniform with pride, That’s when I learned it might be best to keep it all inside. Oh sure, it’s true, there are some things I won’t forget, some things I’ve known and done that you have not, I bet. And, more than likely, never will. Like what, you ask? Well, let me see— I’ve been to some exotic spots, for one, and seen the children cry. I also gained some useful skills, and got to practice them a lot. I know the sounds that bullets make when they go by. I’ve felt the ground beneath me shake. And there were times I was afraid. But then again, there were some times when I was brave. For what it’s worth, I even prayed—back then. More often, though, I swore and cursed and saw men die, I carried them and buried them. And once or twice I dug up graves (don’t ask; you wouldn’t understand) though even that was not the worst… Ah, but that’s enough. I see I’m going on too long with all this stuff— much longer than I planned— and I’m afraid that you might think there’s something wrong, and try to think of some excuse, without appearing impolite, to slip away. But that’s all right. I don’t need anyone to hold my hand. Besides, I really ought to go. You needn’t worry, anyhow. Those things all happened long ago, and I’m OK. At least for now. © A. Ladak, December 2002
Posted on: Mon, 11 Nov 2013 12:55:35 +0000
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