And when it’s done, the prisoners rake
the blasted rock aside, and take
up chisel, pick and sledge to prise
a railway through a limestone rise
for Emperor Hirohito’s sake.
It’s hell, and one in three don’t make
it home, and some survivors quake
when spectres fly until they die
and when it’s done.
Hibiscus, teak and fig trees stake
the wound, and forty monsoons slake
a green ferment, but men reprise
the Pass, and tourists wonder why
they just feel numb when all’s opaque
and when it’s done.
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