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Displacement’s Curse
By Jiddo

The woman bore
Upon her back
Burdens heavy
Displacement’s curse

Widowed young
Children hungry
No where to go
Alone, ever alone

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My country sent me to war three times. Our mission required adding Afghans and Iraqis to our teams. They were integral members of our teams, risked their lives in greater measure than us, literally saved American lives, and became our friends. We made promises, based on commitments our country made for their service.

We, veterans, bear the burden of those promises which have been poorly implemented in the past and now totally abandoned. Don’t speak to me of supporting veterans when simultaneously abandoning our friends and allies under the egregious and faux cloak of protecting our nation.
Rep. Teresa Leger Fernández Senator Martin Heinrich Senator Ben Ray Luján Speaker Mike Johnson Congressman Hakeem Jeffries Leader John Thune Senator Chuck Schumer

https://www.npr.org/2025/12/04/nx-s1-5630487/veterans-who-worked-with-afghan-refugees-worry-about-national-guard-attack-blowback?fbclid=IwY2xjawOel8BleHRuA2FlbQIxMQBzcnRjBmFwcF9pZBAyMjIwMzkxNzg4MjAwODkyAAEeWRJmRirKhqdUvWTOlD02jhHOT7sWcd8nkYIkyj6M_r-vDRUr5BVgbbZ3ojo_aem_bH3e-AtsD9eDe3MBOQVNRQ

Veterans who worked with Afghan refugees worry about National Guard attack blowback After an Afghan national was charged with shooting two National Guard members, veterans who worked closely with Afghan refugees who were once frontline allies are scrambling to respond to the blowback.

"What if these and other highly capable and intelligent displaced women could become producers and contributors to the economy through gaining marketable skills? What better investment could there be - women who know how to survive who are given new skills that meet market demands and who then become consumers of other products? This is sustainable growth at its very best."

Where is the Relief for Women Displaced RICK BURNS

Our little farm in Afghanistan, supporting the health of displaced Afghan children. Click. Contribute. Change the World. www.karadah.org

THOMAS MOORE
After the Battle

Night closed around the conqueror's way,
And lightnings show'd the distant hill,
Where those who lost that dreadful day
Stood few and faint, but fearless still.
The soldier's hope, the patriot's zeal,
For ever dimm'd, for ever crost --
Oh! who shall say what heroes feel,
When all but life and honour's lost?

The last sad hour of freedom's dream,
And valour's task, moved slowly by,
While mute they watch'd, till morning's beam
Should rise and give them light to die.
There's yet a world, where souls are free,
Where tyrants taint not nature's bliss; --
If death that world's bright opening be,
Oh! who would live a slave in this?

RUDYARD KIPLING
Gunga Din

You may talk o’ gin and beer
When you’re quartered safe out ’ere,
An’ you’re sent to penny-fights an’ Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An’ you’ll lick the bloomin’ boots of ’im that’s got it.
Now in Injia’s sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin’ of ’Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them blackfaced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din,
He was ‘Din! Din! Din!
‘You limpin’ lump o’ brick-dust, Gunga Din!
‘Hi! Slippy hitherao
‘Water, get it! Panee lao,
‘You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din.’
The uniform ’e wore
Was nothin’ much before,
An’ rather less than ’arf o’ that be’ind,
For a piece o’ twisty rag
An’ a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment ’e could find.
When the sweatin’ troop-train lay
In a sidin’ through the day,
Where the ’eat would make your bloomin’ eyebrows crawl,
We shouted ‘Harry By!’
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped ’im ’cause ’e couldn’t serve us all.
It was ‘Din! Din! Din!
‘You ’eathen, where the mischief ’ave you been?
‘You put some juldee in it
‘Or I’ll marrow you this minute
‘If you don’t fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!’



’E would dot an’ carry one
Till the longest day was done;
An’ ’e didn’t seem to know the use o’ fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin’ nut,
’E’d be waitin’ fifty paces right flank rear.
With ’is mussick on ’is back,
’E would skip with our attack,
An’ watch us till the bugles made 'Retire,’
An’ for all ’is dirty ’ide
’E was white, clear white, inside
When ’e went to tend the wounded under fire!
It was ‘Din! Din! Din!’
With the bullets kickin’ dust-spots on the green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could hear the front-ranks shout,
‘Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!’

I shan’t forgit the night
When I dropped be’ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should ’a’ been.
I was chokin’ mad with thirst,
An’ the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin’, gruntin’ Gunga Din.
’E lifted up my ’ead,
An’ he plugged me where I bled,
An’ ’e guv me ’arf-a-pint o’ water green.
It was crawlin’ and it stunk,
But of all the drinks I’ve drunk,
I’m gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
It was 'Din! Din! Din!
‘’Ere’s a beggar with a bullet through ’is spleen;
‘’E's chawin’ up the ground,
‘An’ ’e’s kickin’ all around:
‘For Gawd’s sake git the water, Gunga Din!’

’E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An’ a bullet come an’ drilled the beggar clean.
’E put me safe inside,
An’ just before ’e died,
'I ’ope you liked your drink,’ sez Gunga Din.
So I’ll meet ’im later on
At the place where ’e is gone—
Where it’s always double drill and no canteen.
’E’ll be squattin’ on the coals
Givin’ drink to poor damned souls,
An’ I’ll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!
Yes, Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Though I’ve belted you and flayed you,
By the livin’ Gawd that made you,
You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din!