Living in Inferno: Vietnam 1975
Cold, filthy, wooden floor,
I sat in the vortex of darkness, in my cell,
Counting each day that came,
Waiting to be killed by death or crowned by freedom.
The odors of human flesh,
The pungent aroma of urine,
The smell of scattered food remnants,
All, at the same time, invaded my nose.
The scars of yesterday's torture, mottled on me,
My body, adorned with crimson and purple.
The ants and mosquitoes came for a feast,
Eating up the whole of me...
I, a prisoner of the Vietnam war,
A victim of my very own people...
There was nothing worse than self pity;
I felt nothing, but the bitter rain-drops upon my face.