The Brown Hell

In exchange for a hard day's toil

Your dollars pay me to look for oil,

My skin gets burnt, my eyes become learnt,

My legs are tired, my skills well hired.

No place for the living when everything's dying,

Your life becomes cheap in this relentless heat.

Not a cloud in the sky to greet passers-by,

Not a bird on a branch, or a dog from a ranch.

Our views are the same till the wind comes to play,

Then the dust devils dance, spin, leap and prance.

Blue turns to brown as shemaggs are pulled down.

Cool winds blow in the evening glow.

From Aden to Sanna life has passed by,

Through centuries of hardship, guns, qat and chai

The Yemeni people let life just tick by.

Not right or wrong are we to judge,

For this is life without the fuss.

Foot-cuffed camels on meaningless travels

Follow Bedouin trails with women in veils.

The smells, the heat, the Hobbity fea+t.

This country is dying, its children are crying,

No hope of rejoice fills us all with remorse.

We take our oil, we take our pay,

and with the job well done we fade away.

Yemen rocks

by D. M. Blackband