The Mangrove Snapshot-Binh Hoa- Close To Ho Chi Minh City
Strange ColoursClick thumbnail to view full-size
Don Mclean- the Grave
The Mangrove Snapshot
This is a miniature peep into a horror World ! 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 separated 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.
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 obey
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 I had disobeyed.
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 rain.
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.
Red and dusty substance.
Reminded me of footsteps.
Footsteps made by father Christmas
when he called to bring my presents,
on Christmas eve,
even have a photo of those 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 trod along the
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
© 2011 jandee