"Run Rangers, Run"

The soft sigh of the jungle is suddenly shattered,
As rain falls like tears from the Ancient of Days.
Hear the screams of the dying as they fall to the rifle
Bodies are pierced, by the bullets it sprays.
Run Rangers, run, for your people are calling,
Listen to the sound of your pain on the breeze.
Shoulder your packs and go seek out the dying,
Hiding and living under cover of trees.
IDPs stumble along jungle tracks seeking
A place, for a moment, they can lay their tired heads.
Homes have been ravaged, their possessions all burning,
Their children are stolen, their mothers lie dead.
Love Rangers, love, give your heart to the battle.
You're a hope for the hopeless as they flee for their life.
Take in your provisions and tend to the wounded,
The children, the widows and man without wife.
Rat-tat-tat go machine guns, spewing their poison,
As the soldiers of Burma another village make clear.
Ethnic cleansed landscapes huddle in shadow,
While the ashes of hatred speak of their fear.
Pray Rangers, pray, as you crouch behind saplings,
Barring the way of the Burma Army's advance.
As Karen run on swiftly, crossing the hilltops,
Never surrender while freedom has chance.
Landmines explode with the voice of destruction
Primed like venomous spiders buried in pits.
A young boy goes searching for food for his family,
A footstep placed wrongly, his leg's blown to bits.
Stay Rangers, stay, and give ease to their spirits.
They have souls that know violence but never know rest.
They lie down on hard ground on mats they have woven,
Grieved that though they are homeless, even sparrows have nests.
As I sat drinking coffee, with no fears for the future,
No sad jungle echoes would resound in my head.
But like the wind moaning, I heard the faint whispers
Rising in volume, crying out things you had said.
Speak Rangers, speak, and tell us their stories
Awake us from slumber and show us the light.
We once stumbled in blindness but now catch the vision,
As you show us the path and bring us into the fight.
Now, night after night I trek into Burma,
My mind takes me places as I fall off to sleep.
As I run with the Rangers on nocturnal excursions,
My arms are embracing the mothers that weep.

Written by Shelley Parkinson
November 2006