#poem, «When We Was Punks»

Steel pots on and rifles ready,
eyes wide open,
moving steady,
panoramic sights in view,
no tunnel vision
all is new
in this land
where feet are travelling
jungles, trees,
and death unravelling
in a most peculiar fashion,
hand grenades ready for action
as we move beneath the branches
filled with green and orange fruits
we’re filling all the daylight hours
by being just intrepid youth,
that carved our names on nameless trunks,
when we was punks…

Searching through the light of day
enemy footsteps near the bay,
or was that just a mere lagoon
reflecting rays of foreign moons
in a forest never ending
on a path that’s steady bending
towards a clearing where the sun
reveals those that before have gone
just like us upon this trail
that lead those that have won or failed
to meet objectives
carved in stone
or tattooed on their very bones,
but on we journeyed
like hooded monks,
when we was punks.

C.2025 – Francisco Bravo Cabrera – 13 MAR 2025 – Valencia, España