BONGOS:
Nangarhar
High times - you're seeing two couples off. Colorful smiles. Trees and hot smells of food spice, highland sun, smoke from mouths. Adolescence in twos. We will prosper, coupled futures in Nangarhar. Two families in a valley between the hills.
My son looks like a little man
Look at the bride, a flower in the scrub mountains
I will marry off two of my children today, he smiled through a huge beard. The progression. Coming together, families heading toward the center. A parade with nature as audience. Bushes and hills smiling, the sun winking potpourri overhead.
Time for a larger family
Climbing up the mountainside. A steep way up to the peak; soon we'll all be dancing.
Her figure is rounding out, look at those hips!
Brides in red and blue and green and orange and yellow and red.
:
Thunder barks. Fighting terror. Target sighted, enemy movement, prepare to fire And then lightning, and the brides were all in red. Red on the plants, red on the ground. Red like crushed berries in dry valley soil. Red painted on the leaves and the rush-boom of jets overhead. We've been attacked A crater for a pulpit. Bodies for guests. Scraps of rainbow fabric dyed black floating like buzzard feathers. Clouds of dust floating away off. Mountains sharp as broken bones. Running away. They headed down the hill and then they exploded Two weddings and forty-seven funerals. Bent metal and smoldering. The smell of spices and fruits replaced with the smell of burnt meat, too crisp for the reception. My son is only a boy A sonic boom shaking the valley. The dust too hot to breathe. Whimpers and cries in the dust. Drifting scraps of blue fabric. This is the only family you have left.
BRASS:
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