In a café, at the airport
In the corner
Sits there, Chillchinga
The young US soldier
With cigarettes and an empty look
Tired from those battles
Easily seen, the scars
Gained and given
From confrontations
In a distant land
The only desire now
To go home
To converse few words
In Spanish as he pays the price
For migration and adventure
In the distant time

Sit there in the corner
McMillan and Richardson
Spectacles on their tiny face
Turned away from scenes of horror
Of participation and of discussion
Away from those big monitors
News of Iraq and Afghanistan

As they depart and arrive
With wounds open and left behind
The whole sense of adventure
An end, to see the world as it was
Now the desire gone, to see this world
Created by their greed and power
Not much left in them just faces
Pale and baked, in deserts of Iraq
In mountains of Afghanistan
Walk they slowly and indifferent

Not much its holds the concept
Of peace and promise, in existence
What can u bring for these souls?
All that had now gone only the voices
Of their brutality and of their defense
What will they offer to others?
When the time will come
Sense of comfort and promise of peace

As I depart and exchange few words
Visible in them, visage of hope
Few years down the line I see them
In their darkness and silence
And few with still some light left
Out on the streets to protest
As their elders before, years ago
The constant reminders......
As their fates brings them the justice
From old battles and fortunes
In the name of adventure,
In the name of democracy and values
The biggest plunder, with not many options
With their lives and whole planet Earth!