Afghan War Poems: Man with Rose

Don't pick the rose, pick me:
 Dry sand, grey clay of the earth.
 Put me in a bowl by your window.
 I am the ground you walk on: honour me.

 Don't pick the rose, pick me.
 Rust-brown pinecone of the Afghan hills.
 Put me in a bowl of clay
 A bed for me to rest upon: touch me.

 Don't pick the rose, pick me:
 Wild yellow-green grass or tiny sage shrub.
 Without us this whole valley would cease to be lush.
 Look past the rose, see me.

 Pick the rose, pick me.
 Bright red, orange and white,
 petal soft and smiling.
 Take me in your hand: smell me.



Artist’s Statement: A friend of mine living in Canada, Maureen Mayhew, has worked with Doctors Without Borders on a series of placements since the outbreak of the Afghan War. I am one of a number of poets who have gathered with her to look at photos of pictures she has taken of life in Afghanistan as she has visited the homes of people who have come to the medical clinics where she has served. These poems were inspired by the sessions of writing that emerged from contemplation of a series of poems one summer afternoon. The photos shown with these poems and the poems themselves are part of a larger work in progress being contemplated as part of a traveling exhibit related to the work of Doctors Without Borders. Maureen Mayhew holds copyright for these photos.