Strangers that fly
The rumbling of the engine silenced by thought,
As I sit with my brothers in the back of a truck.
A mesmerizing time overcomes my soul,
The feeling of happiness - my heart it struck.
I grip my rifle with my dried out hands,
Swaying sidewards every time we turn.
The woodlands hugging the road we follow,
The sun is hiding so the ice doesn't burn.
I rake the frost out from my beard,
To the falling snow my eyes do stare.
I blow it away like blowing a kiss,
As my icy breath takes up the air.
A brother sings underneath his breath,
The melody of the strangers that strikes the heart.
"Ghuraba, Ghuraba!" he utters proudly,
Strangers we were right from the start.
His Chechen accent mixed with the Arabic,
Brings a smile to my face underneath my face-wrap.
Lightening the mood and easing the nerves,
As I tighten the buckle on my rifles strap.
I looked around at the group of brothers,
As I pondered about who will remain at the end.
Who will beat us to what our hearts desire?
Those who for Allah, with their lives they spend.
I lay my rifle across my lap,
The truck still swaying me from side to side.
I put up my hands and I begin to supplicate,
That I may be one of those who honourably died.
The driver shouts from inside his cabin,
"A few hundred metres until we reach your drop zone."
Referring to the position where I was to begin to scout,
Scouting the enemy - I'll be all alone.
A brother beside me hands me a radio,
"Use frequency forty-three - we'll be on there."
I strap it on my vest just above my heart,
As he hands me a pistol - a plain, old spare.
The brothers reaching out from across their seats,
Begin to farewell me and wish me the best.
"At base or the gardens" they begin to say,
Referring to where we'll meet once the battle is at rest.
I sit back for an instance to take in my memories,
Such was life - a grueling phase.
My loyalty sold by those who loved me,
Turning my heart on a ferocious blaze.
My desire to meet my brother in Paradise,
So I could fly beside his wings.
He inspired me before he had met his end,
I wonder if in Paradise, he happily sings?
The truck slowing down as I hear the gears change,
My time is near to unleash my roar.
One last check to see what I've prepared,
Rifle, rounds, and certainty in my Lord.
Coming to a halt - the truck is idling,
The engine still rumbling as I breathe a last breath.
My brothers stare and smile towards me,
Saying "may you get your honourable death."
I smile back without saying a word,
As I swing my rifle onto my back.
One of the brothers opens the rear gate for me,
As I make my way to the scouting track.
Slowly the truck begins to pull away,
I look at it leave until I hear it no more.
Silence fills the woodlands I see,
The snow above me begins to fall.
Along the road I begin to walk,
Testing my radio as I walk a bend.
Certainty in my Lord overwhelms my soul,
As I begin my quest to meet my end.
I enter the woodlands and I look back behind me,
My footsteps fading against the snow.
Like the fading of hardship from within my life,
My happiness suddenly begins to grow.
I have no intention of meeting at base,
For indeed my Lord knows that I seek the other.
So allow the angels to prepare for my taking,
And allow me to fly right beside my brother.
I await their coming to set me free,
The snow still falling - my hands still dry.
Stranger, stranger, is what I am,
So allow me to be with the strangers who fly.
The rumbling of the engine silenced by thought,
As I sit with my brothers in the back of a truck.
A mesmerizing time overcomes my soul,
The feeling of happiness - my heart it struck.
I grip my rifle with my dried out hands,
Swaying sidewards every time we turn.
The woodlands hugging the road we follow,
The sun is hiding so the ice doesn't burn.
I rake the frost out from my beard,
To the falling snow my eyes do stare.
I blow it away like blowing a kiss,
As my icy breath takes up the air.
A brother sings underneath his breath,
The melody of the strangers that strikes the heart.
"Ghuraba, Ghuraba!" he utters proudly,
Strangers we were right from the start.
His Chechen accent mixed with the Arabic,
Brings a smile to my face underneath my face-wrap.
Lightening the mood and easing the nerves,
As I tighten the buckle on my rifles strap.
I looked around at the group of brothers,
As I pondered about who will remain at the end.
Who will beat us to what our hearts desire?
Those who for Allah, with their lives they spend.
I lay my rifle across my lap,
The truck still swaying me from side to side.
I put up my hands and I begin to supplicate,
That I may be one of those who honourably died.
The driver shouts from inside his cabin,
"A few hundred metres until we reach your drop zone."
Referring to the position where I was to begin to scout,
Scouting the enemy - I'll be all alone.
A brother beside me hands me a radio,
"Use frequency forty-three - we'll be on there."
I strap it on my vest just above my heart,
As he hands me a pistol - a plain, old spare.
The brothers reaching out from across their seats,
Begin to farewell me and wish me the best.
"At base or the gardens" they begin to say,
Referring to where we'll meet once the battle is at rest.
I sit back for an instance to take in my memories,
Such was life - a grueling phase.
My loyalty sold by those who loved me,
Turning my heart on a ferocious blaze.
My desire to meet my brother in Paradise,
So I could fly beside his wings.
He inspired me before he had met his end,
I wonder if in Paradise, he happily sings?
The truck slowing down as I hear the gears change,
My time is near to unleash my roar.
One last check to see what I've prepared,
Rifle, rounds, and certainty in my Lord.
Coming to a halt - the truck is idling,
The engine still rumbling as I breathe a last breath.
My brothers stare and smile towards me,
Saying "may you get your honourable death."
I smile back without saying a word,
As I swing my rifle onto my back.
One of the brothers opens the rear gate for me,
As I make my way to the scouting track.
Slowly the truck begins to pull away,
I look at it leave until I hear it no more.
Silence fills the woodlands I see,
The snow above me begins to fall.
Along the road I begin to walk,
Testing my radio as I walk a bend.
Certainty in my Lord overwhelms my soul,
As I begin my quest to meet my end.
I enter the woodlands and I look back behind me,
My footsteps fading against the snow.
Like the fading of hardship from within my life,
My happiness suddenly begins to grow.
I have no intention of meeting at base,
For indeed my Lord knows that I seek the other.
So allow the angels to prepare for my taking,
And allow me to fly right beside my brother.
I await their coming to set me free,
The snow still falling - my hands still dry.
Stranger, stranger, is what I am,
So allow me to be with the strangers who fly.