Veteran’s Sleepless Nights

“Peb, cov neeg Hmoob, tau pab cov neeg Mis Kas,

tiam sis peb tseem tshuav peb txoj sia nyob ntawm peb tus kheej.”

With the sun shining so bright,

memories come rushing back

on a Saturday afternoon.

The memories filled with terror and pain.

My dreams that become nightmares of horrors,

yet the truth is found through the history books.

A history that I have experienced

but can never be forgotten.

The soul of a decorated soldier plagued

by the fear and deaths of so many,

yet so little blood on our hands.

The war that I have fought in secret to save my people

but was never saved myself.

The fight to unseen the things that I have seen

but knowing it can never be erased.

How to save a man who fought

for our safety every step of the way,

but no one to fight for his safety.

A struggle between what is the real reality

and what are my terrors.

My tears running a river to join the Mekong River,

along with my people, the survivors.

But were we really survivors?

A brave soldier who we call a survivor,

but we do not know the reality

of the people he has lost to survive,

of the things he had to do to survive.

Grandchildren running for game of tag,

a memory of my comrades running from the dangers,

from the enemies whose goal is to murder and plunder.

I tried to save myself and the others,

but it was never enough.

The harsh reality that

the soldier struggle to face.

The reality that we were never taught.

Reality that went on for years,

but felt like it was just yesterday.

Images that seem to never disappear

because I cannot disappear.

Screaming for help internally,

but smiling for outsiders

because they do not understand my pain.

We feel the pain for the soldier,

but what do we really know when they ask,

“What stories are you talking about?”

“Can you specify the stories?”

The horrors that I faced and cannot unface.

The cries of my people that I can still hear.

The screams that replays over and over and over.

The pleads to help us that went unheard.

The last cry for help just before a gunshot to the head.

Here’s the story they’re looking for,

the story of the fears living

in the eyes of every haunted soldier,

and it starts with:

A veteran’s sleepless nights.

These are my sleepless nights.