In an Afghan Garden

A poem about the evening I noticed the scent of roses in my garden at the same time as my son did on the army base in Lashkar Gah

He didn’t know
as he shuffled between huts
eyes slitted with fatigue,
mind numbed by duty, dust
settling in his wake;
as he smelled something out of place;
stopped, sniffed, waited
as a drift of rose scent curled
from the cooling garden, defiant,
out of place, tended by silent,
invisible Afghans. A simple thing, yet
affecting, beyond reason.

I didn’t know as
hose in hand in June half-light
mesmerised by droplets scudding
across pastel petals, I wondered
which flowers grew in Lashkar Gah...
if any. Roused by the scent
of water on warm, rose bloom
I wished to parcel it and despatch
a touch of June garden to his
gritty desert.

We didn’t recognise, until later
much later, the magic of
improbable, fragrant
serendipity.

Author's Note

All comments gratefully received.

Reviews

[brenda]

wow amazing poem!:)

[whispereversolightly]

oh Wow I really enjoyed this write. Such emotions in this. I liked this write alot.