It was the noise.
The screaming of shells
machine gun bullets
rat-a-tatting by mens ears.
The Clash of bayonets knives,
entrenching knives as weapons.
Blood curdling cries of mules, horses,
cut down at the end of a nightmare journey.
Raucous shouts at the enemy,
as they fought in the name of Allah.
The never ending tumultuous uproar.
It was the silence,
men undefeated, haggard,
with blank eyes, lacking in sparkle.
Staggering back to the trenches,
past broken rifles with blackened bullets,
burnt in scrub fire caused by shells.
Ashes of rags which were once uniforms,
with badges and insignia lovingly polished.
Small heaps of cartridge cases.
Tell tale bits and pieces of another senseless battle,
from the disasters of military history.
© Ann Robinson
March 2015
Langley Writers
