Villages
We rolled on through the broken landscape
The old road cracked at the edges
The surface cratered with potholes
Badly-used and neglected
Our progress precarious
A village –
The people curious and suspicious
Their houses broken and shell-holed
Tarpaulins, ropes on the roofs
Rusted, corrugated sheets bound in the walls
Pungent smoke from crumbling chimneys
Old carpets draped in doorways
Hunger in their eyes
The track then twisting and turning
Churning mud under our tyres
The engine labouring at times
My arm aching from shifting the gears
My back breaking from the rolling and pitching
But still moving forward
Another village –
No people, or perhaps hidden from view
Echoes in the emptiness
Smells of scattered straw
Dirt and dung piled in the streets
The burnt black ribs of a house
Deserted amid the rubble
Straighter again before plunging downhill
Through a gulley, arched over by trees,
Darkness for a few moments
Flickering light dappling the windscreen
Emerging at the foot of a valley
The car rolling and rattling
And another village –
Tents here but no buildings
The women washing clothes in the river
Their faces gritted with effort
Bodies shivering with cold from the water
Regard us with envy
Their menfolk nowhere to be seen
Danger in the darkness
Right foot down
Quickly, thankfully, left behind
In the fumes of our escape
Diesel exhaust and dust
Headed for the distant lights of town
Blockades, barricades, checkpoints
The only remaining things
Between ourselves and sanctuary
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