The Mangrove Snapshot-Binh Hoa- close to Ho Chi Minh City

This is a miniature peep into a horror world ! Unearthly upheaval..created by a so called civilised nation the mighty U.S. We don't see any horror ! We see the gentleness of innocent dust !

A young soldier is seperated from his unit. He is unnerved by the silence.

When a young kid is lost and frightened in the terrifying jungle of Vietnam.

He lives by the moment. Taking in the weirdness of the 'unusual ' around him.

Why was the grass orange ? Why were these women who looked so like his young wife at home said to be evil ? They were sweet and kind to him the enemy ! They weren't evil !!

Something wasn't quite right ! Something had changed !



' Hold my hand 

we will wander down the orange way'.

.........................................................

I will talk you through the hours

of events that happened on that day.

Don't know how it happened

I was lost I'd missed my way

in jungle deep and lonely

so alone but had to stay

The rule was clear for times like this

don't despair just obay

maybe hours but soon okay

I enjoyed the quiet of the delay

and lazed as I pondered about the raid

and thought ' why me ,if only'?



The yellowy orange dust was pretty

as it landed on my outstretched hand

little specs of pinky orange like confetti

at a wedding, when a marriage band

of gold is slipped upon a finger.

I closed my mind,didn't want to think

of people back in the other land.





I quenched my thirst from a

gently running stream

with strange colours of

which I had never seen 

then ate from trees laden

with luscious fruit.



I looked up high

and so began a dream.

The leaves had left the trees

and floated elsewhere

many days ago.

A smell so strange

would follow from the dew

left by the rains.

My headaches came when

eating fruit or sometimes

bathing feet in a stream.



Then times when I would rest

my aching ,aching head

on brightly covered fallen logs

Painted orange with some red.

A dusty substance

reminded me of footsteps.

Footsteps made by father Christmas

when he called to bring my presents.

I even have a photo of these events

a photo taken in the snow all those years ago

then a picture of the chimney

and the soot on Santa's feet

as he gently tread along the black

marble hearth,to bring the treats

remembered from my youth

at father Christmas time.

I often wondered where my

buddies were, did they remember me.



I died a while then in the sleep

remembered women lifting me

all small and neat were they

They placed me on a rug

then carried me to tunnels

where they gently nursed me

with words I couldn't say

no more memories.Just haze

Now I live in hope and be

thankful for my life...my days........

I am home again and never

will I venture to take anothers

land....................