Least enemy is the foe.
At closer range they know
malaria and mud.
Overhead the birds
like obscene words
foul the languid air.
On this name they cannot spell
many comrades fell.
The living, bored, scratch themselves.
While heat like a brazen gong
clangs the whole day long.
Midnight, the bell is tolling.
And fear like tangling vines
constantly entwines;
knife cannot hack it free.
Peace is the strangest dream,
for home is to be clean
and privacy to cry.
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