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  1. #1

    Default Dangerous Journey

    When the fog of war drifts away, we tend to forget exactly what conflict and combat involve and how veterans are changed by being part of it. I post this new poem of mine, not for your enjoyment, but as an opportunity to reflect on those two issues.

    If you copy this poem and post it elsewhere, I simply ask that you do acknowledge myself as the author. There are far too many of my poems floating around the internet where the poster has put up the words but has not even had the courtesy to acknowledge me as the author.

    Chimurenga is the victors’ name for the Rhodesian Bush War. Entumbane I and II were battles in Bulawayo in 1980 and 1981 when Nkomo attempted to cut Matabeleland off from Zimbabwe and set up an independent state. Gukurahundi was the name given to the genocide committed by the Zimbabwe 5thBrigade in Matabeleland from 1984 to 1987, conducted to convince all Matabele to settle down and be good little Zimbabweans.


    Dangerous Journey

    When Chimurenga raged, when Chaos ruled our land
    Violence, casual, unthinking, was our way.
    Crossfire killed civilians. Babies bled,
    When their brains were beaten out. Burnt meat smoke billowed
    From blazing houses, screams echoing from
    The people locked within. By empty kraals, by poisoned waters, crops
    Wilted, unreaped. Troops grew hardened; no quarter asked, no quarter given.
    Prisoners, tortured, thrown from choppers. Bulldozers
    Pushed piles of bodies into pyres
    And, when the flames burnt down, buried sad remains.
    The madness grew and grew and grew, Even
    Neighbours were not spared. In Angola, Botswana, Zambia, Mozambique
    Warplanes ranged the skies, while locals on the ground
    Fled or died, trapped, as forces clashed
    Around their homes and in their fields.

    When weary warriors, finally, made a fragile peace,
    When Death, exhausted, dropped his worn- out scythe
    The mad crescendo faltered; hope stirred faintly. But not in me. I left
    Those smouldering, sullen embers, made my place elsewhere.

    When Entumbane flared, I watched, horrified, as hope
    Was raped and strangled, dumped in an unmarked grave. Saw Chaos
    Pound out a brand-new tune; brother turn on brother, march
    In an insane, genocidal band while
    Gukurahundi consumed my land.

    Now, as my journey, slowly, scrolls down toward its end, as my
    Final, certain destination looms; my soul needs ease. I must leave
    Family, friends and quiet retirement days; face my past,
    Wade through moth-eaten files, dig up dusty diaries.

    Walk back through my poems; my little stories, my moments,
    Captured, scrawled on cigarette boxes, back when I
    Was lost in the clamour, confusion and terror
    Of my youth. I must hammer my keyboard;
    Commenting, analysing, remembering, recording; chase
    Elusive memory wisps before
    They slip through the cracks of my crowded mind.

    I must travel. Down
    Those dusty, unused roads which lead
    To the far off place where, once, we fought and fell. Trudge back down
    The paths which lead to there; pausing at, then passing through
    The highlights of my life, until, at last, I find
    Those tumultuous years, see myself,
    Rifle in hand, one, in a file of men, silently
    Slipping through the smoke, Jim (dead Jim) leading,
    Yank behind. Smacks and Carlos, covering, on the flanks.

    The night is lit by burning huts, their flickering, shadowed light
    Playing on, and with, the scenes of death. Shapes clash,
    Manoeuvre through their murderous dance, leaving
    Corpses lying round. Mortars play the bass, small arms
    The tenor notes as, about us, combat plays
    Its wild, seductive tones, that dark, siren music
    Which lures us, leads us, on to our appointed time
    In Götterdämmerung.

    I merge with old companions; noting this, recalling that; listening to
    The mindless, screaming symphony shaped
    By feckless, fanatic leaders
    Who took us through the storm. I ride the wave of battle, lost in contemplation
    Of who I was - when, suddenly, I stop,
    Startled, see my sanity, writhing in its woes, seized by
    The demons loosed upon this place. Hurriedly
    Clasp those insights which I found and flee, racing for
    My here and now, seeking safe haven
    In my present day, surrounded by
    Family, books, children; the familiar, friendly things that form
    The routine, mundane corners of my settled ways.

    …Back in my book-lined room, still shaking, that dangerous,addictive music
    Playing, persistently, in my head. The night breaths calm,
    Nothing stirs, no danger looms –yet fear fills me,
    Am I really safe? Have my demons followed me? Urgently,
    I recite my guarding prayer, my vow…

    “I will offer
    Violence to none, save those
    Who will offer
    Violence to me.”

    As I have, again and again, since
    I turned my back on war.

    Chas Lotter
    Last edited by Chas Lotter; 26-02-2015 at 19:10. Reason: spacing

  2. #2

    Default Re: Dangerous Journey

    Thanks for that Chas. Makes me want to go home. Going to go through the old photos again...

  3. #3

    Default Re: Dangerous Journey

    Nice one Chas.

  4. #4
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    Default Re: Dangerous Journey

    Thanks Chas, it is a reminder for the uninitiated to violence of how precious peace is, and what the realities of war are.

  5. #5
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    Default Re: Dangerous Journey

    Must say very well done!!

  6. #6
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    Default Re: Dangerous Journey

    Excellent reading Chas, thank you.

    I was far too young to understand the significance of the Rhodesian flag coming down for the last time. I've read just about every book that there is to read about the country of my birth and its violent struggles - including Rhodesian Soldier, which my folks still have.

    It's just so sad that peace has yet to arrive.

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