The old savage dream again was back
The old savage dream again was back
of enemy tanks coming down the track,
useless the light machinegun was stuttering
as exploding shells made both my ears sing
while I could find no kind of escape,
events caught speed like a winding video tape,
I was firing from the hip without effect
had no ready rocket launcher to select,
heard the nearing enemy tank tracks groan,
while my limbs were slow, turning to stone;
from the blue sky a screeching eagle fell,
death was in its claws, triumph in its yell,
while it dropped scorching deadly flame,
heroic returning under fire to do the same.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
A shot rang out like lightning out of a gun
Goodbye to the land where the sun always shine,
to the blue sky that always is bright,
goodbye to the light that comes every day
and hello to that midnight which is cold and dark.
A shot rang out like lightning out of a gun
fading the sun while white vapour rose
out of a shot out armoured car,
I couldn’t close my eyes or look away.
Goodbye to that enemy tank stopped in its tracks
against a bank of earth
while my armoured car’s gun rang out
sending a phosphorus shell with fire from hell.
A rocket flew past with a flaming tail
like a star falling from the sky
before exploding against a tree with a blast
and goodbye to the enemy soldiers who fired it
while we moved past at speed
with a machinegun howling a great cry.
I heard that enemy commander weeping over the radio
while his frequencies were blocked
being in shock
and sounding like the voices of many men
crying in the anguish of death
as if a deadly net had been cast
and I wish that I could understand Spanish
but the noise was ear-splitting
and it was goodbye to tank after tank
and goodbye with blast after blast and going in quick
stopping, firing and running away fast
and every enemy armoured car we found
only got one shot
till the last shell had being fired
and tired we went to fetch some more,
ate in a hurry before being wished good luck
and going back to war.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Cassinga
Just like spring when the blue sky is full of falling leaves,
there are three hundred and seventy parachutes that decent,
on a ominous day
with enemy AA-guns reporting
and the enemy are more
than a thousand and a half in number.
The barrels of the enemy AA-guns are lowered,
to break us
and the enemy tries to sow havoc
and to decimate us.
Enemy snipers are shooting from trees
and from everywhere
there are shots being fired,
that munches pieces from us
From behind ruins
we fire almost endlessly
at trenches where some enemy soldiers hide
and launch mortar bombs
all over the place,
while bullets are coming down like rain.
We return heavy fire
to the enemy at the AA-guns,
while other soldiers replace them
which keeps the battle hanging in balance
Shot after shot are being fired
and the smell of death
is strong in the air
and there’s nowhere
for the enemy to escape to.
The last resistance disappears
and there’s apparent peace
and dead enemies everywhere
and some of the bats,
get into pumas
and the rest of us wait
with nowhere to go.
The border is too far to walk
and there’s nothing to drive away with,
when Cuban tanks and armoured cars
find us there.
.
With RPG-7 iron fists
four tanks are destroyed
and a landmine stops another tank in its tracks,
but only paratroops against oncoming armour
are canon feed
and nothing diminishes the danger
of a Cuban mechanized battalion.
Till two Mirages destroys ten armoured cars
and everywhere there’s smoke and dust
and a Buccaneer comes from the sun,
to let moments turn into eternity.
Time after time
it flashes by and fires its rockets
at the oncoming tanks
and with no ammo left,
dives fearlessly over shooting AA-guns
to make the tanks take cover.
It’s very ruff going
but the last pumas land
in a clouds of dust,
to evacuate us
while enemy tanks keep firing.
I try and hold the rearguard with a LMG
before the shot out ruins fades away from me
and we leave forty living enemies behind
and all of us are safely gone,
but for four brave men
whose lives are spent.
[References: AA-guns=> Anti aircraft guns. Bats=>Parabats=>Airbourne soldiers. RPG-7 iron fists=> Rocket propelled grenade launchers=> Bazookas. Mirages=> Mirage fighter jets. Buccaneer=> Buccaneer ground support bomber. Pumas=> Puma helicopters. LMG=> Light machinegun.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Somewhere Near The Lomba River
The guns of enemy tanks are flashing
like bolts of thunder while I am glancing,
the night air is full of the smell of cordite
and luckily those shots are passing
while the armoured car draws to a sudden halt
for its gun to take aim and on my lips I taste salt
before the armour piercing shell is fired
and at a direct hit around me the crew exalt
before at speed we move on
and some more enemy Cuban soldiers are gone,
are burnt in the fiery hell
while my heart, my brain feels like stone.
An enemy shell strikes another armoured car
like a exploding flaming star
and I can smell torched human flesh,
while I wish to be away very far,
to be away from killing
and this chilling
kind of machination of machines and men
who at each other are firing
but to survive we battle on right through the night,
are still trying to find some more enemies in the broad daylight,
find two abounded stationary pristine enemy battle tanks
from which the enemy had run in fright.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Abdul Hameed
As a plan of defence and to reply enemy's attacks
On grenadier's positions, being repeatedly made,
He occupied a vital area in the new defence plan,
A firm hold on that place was essential to sustain.
Serious threat developed, as the enemy attacked
With regiment of tanks, intense artillery preceded;
Shelling so heavily that shells littered every yard,
In defence positions, foe's tanks penetrated forward.
Hamid, commanding a recoilless gun detachment
Seeing gravity, moved to stop the tank regiment
In gun mounted jeep disregarding personal safety,
Taking his position he knocked out a tank of enemy.
Intense enemy shelling and tank fire couldn't deter
His sustained act of bravery knocked out an other;
One by one he knocked out six with accurate fire,
Then changed his position for seventh, with dare.
By this time, enemy had spotted his position,
On him brought down concentrated machine gun.
The intense and continued fire put him in trouble
A war was continued between steel made and muscle
He fought, as not the tanks, he was made of steel
Kept on firing, with his courage and patriotic feel.
As he fired to destroy the seventh tank of enemy,
Wounded by a high explosive shell, mortally;
His bravery and steel like determination, destroyed
Six plus one tank, which took The Hero too, along
Defended his mother land with strong determination
And lived for ever, in hearts of people of his nation.
(C) S D Tiwari
sdtiwari1@gmail(dot) com
poem by S.D. Tiwari
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Had found its mark
The night I saw you die
under a star struck cross
against the night sky
near the end of the age
your eyes were flaming with rage
as if that fire could leap
and set the night alight
and howitzer guns roared
sending their disciples
with thundering flame
across many miles
to convert with death and blood
and as fast as the enemy came
flooding the bush, the veldt
with armoured chariots
exploding shells, rocket bombs
and projectiles
decimated them
as if the inferno in your eyes
had found its mark
turning every enemy ablaze.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The night is full of brown Ratel armoured cars
The night is full of brown Ratel armoured cars
and Olifant tanks
that drives and rolls in on the ground
and salvos from rocket launching trucks
that draws arcs
and in the distance howitzer canon reports
in volleys
and when a light flare suddenly falls
it is as if the bushes are teeming
with enemy tanks and armoured cars
just where I look
and it looks
like the day of judgement.
Projectiles find their targets
and canister-shot comes down exploding thundering
and it’s an apocalyptic night
for some of the enemy
who are burning,
scorched and blown to smithereens in their armour
and when a tank
suddenly appears out of the bushes
there is a hell of a red thunderclap
as a shot from another Ratel hits it deadly
and I realize that even here
a person’s time is measured out
and around me there are fireworks
like stars falling from the sky
while we stop and aim
the following killing shot.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The road ahead dissolved into dust
The road ahead dissolved into dust
and we could not see the track
nor any of the other fighting vehicles
consisting out of Olifant main battle tanks
and Ratel armoured cars that were ahead of us.
Bushes were covering the veldt
on all sides and around us,
the early morning fog
had drifted over from the river
and worse still tried to cover things
and in the distance I heard the cannon
of a enemy tank blasting off a projectile
and almost felt the impact hitting us,
but it shrieked past
and at speed we left the track
rammed through some bushes
and the Ratel-90 armoured car
draw to a halt
and our return shot
found its mark
and we had to take another one
to make dead sure
of the destruction
of the Russian manufactured T-55 tank
before speeding away
trying to avoid being hit
and found another target
and one more and another after that
and later even filling the night
with bright flashing canon flame,
sending death out with projectiles
to whichever enemy that we found.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Trench charge
Firing from his hip he was running,
with the light machinegun kicking
dressed in a brown army uniform
running towards a trench
while bullets whistled, swished past him
with some kicking up dust around him
and like a machine functioning
at perfect speed and timing
he lobbed a grenade
somewhat like a cricket ball
but with a deadly sting
into the trench
before dropping behind a small stone wall
waiting for the explosive cracking sound
giving instructions with hand signs
to the troops that followed him
and when it came
he let of a few bursts
with the light machinegun
on its folded out stand
before half-terrified, filled with adrenaline
he started running again
with his troops following him,
shooting from the hip
and at the enemy trench
jumps straight in
spraying soldiers dressed in olive green
with flaming hot bullets,
smelling the fumes of cordite,
mixed with sand and death
with every breath burning
in his chest and throat
without time to really think,
just to comprehend
and to react, noting dust flying
from the wall next to his head
were passing enemy bullets were slamming.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To true heroes
Under heavy fire from the enemy
into the landmine field they went,
two men went into that deadly place
to extract a lost tank,
and in they went again
to bring back
a wounded man.
Sometimes officers lead the way
scorning death in facing the enemy
and true heroes were they both.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The air was full of fire and sand
The night that I wished to be home
as the path we were on
lead to death
and not like the axiom to Rome
behind enemy lines
we called in the vultures of death
and the chill froze my breath
in clouds in the bright moonlight,
followed the mist from the river
penetrating ever deeper
into the enemy positions
we hid almost in their midst
and with the rising sun
eerie birds came screeching down
with flaming afterburners
dropping rockets and bombs
on enemy tanks,
shelling armoured cars
with raging canon
and the air was full
of fire and sand.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On the other side of the Lomba river
There are flashes hitting in the distance,
bad weather hanging on the other side of the Lomba river
with tanks standing ablaze
nothing can stop the war clouds
(while the shots of enemy tanks resound)
or stop the slaughter of the angel of death
and Fapla, Cubans and Russians perish
and we also receive deadly shots.
There are flashes hitting in the distance,
where we teach them a final lesson in Africa
when the enemy appear
but olifant tanks and Ratel armoured cars are stuck in a landmine field
and howitzer canons fire
at the beginning of the slaughter
with tanks standing ablaze
and there are olifant tanks and Ratel armoured cars disappearing in the bush
with rockets raining down
when the enemy appear
which rip enemy weaponry into pieces
and division after division comes under restraint.
There are flashes hitting in the distance,
and the canons of howitzers, tanks and armoured cars fire continuously
while the smell of death is everywhere
with rockets raining down
with few enemy being still alive,
with some leaving intact tanks, fleeing to survive
with tanks standing ablaze
and I am conscious of the inhumanity
and feelings of powerlessness
while the smell of death is everywhere
and the slaughter goes on and on
and human life isn’t important.
There are flashes hitting in the distance,
with tanks standing ablaze
and whatever you do or mean
nothing can stop the war clouds
and feelings of powerlessness
or stop the slaughter of the angel of death.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ac her forþ beraò; fugelas singaò, gylleò grœghama
Gnashing enemy tanks are coming on
while the Ratel-90 stands still
and many things
goes through my mind.
The shot sounds thundering
and for a moment I am blinded
by smoke, dust and giant flames
that devours things.
The redneck is still shooting
through branches and bushes
with the front machinegun
and it can cost his life
but he shoots on like a machine
and feeds the ammunition belt
and I let the driver pull him in
and he’s again aboard
locked behind armoured steel
where he curses and takes out his rage
and shoot from within
and he speaks a foreign tongue:
“Ac her forþ beraò;
fugelas singaò,
gylleò grœghama”
We drive away with speed
and stop and shoot and drive again
and let projectiles
find their targets deadly
and so we continue for hours
that drag into days
and around us the enemy is shot out
and what is not burning,
is already junk
or just left behind.
Enemy soldiers of Fapla,
Cuba and a few from Russia
lie shot to pieces,
some half burnt
and whole brigades are wiped out
and in the distance I hear jackals howling
and the air is full of vultures
turning in it
while the stench of death,
phosphorous and gunpowder almost suffocates me
and some more dust or maybe emotions
makes my eyes tear.
[References: Redneck=>Englishman. “Ac her forþ beraò; fugelas singaò, gylleò grœghama” => Gaelic for: “For here starts war; carrion birds sing, and grey wolves howl.” From: “The Fight at Finnsburh.” Jackal => a African fox.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The havoc of war
a Smoking and burning
enemy battle tank
stands stopped in its tracks,
like a metal coffin
with its occupants
still hatched in.
a BRDM enemy armoured car
is encased by leaping flames
and the phosphoric burning smell
is churning in my guts.
Some dead Cuban soldiers lay
cut from the stem
mangled in blood and guts
and the machinegun is still chattering
and I wish to be,
in another place and time
than to be a part
of this slaughtering.
a Bleating Gemsbok rushes past
trying to outrun the flames,
that leap through the field
while the machines of war
brings death to the living.
Shot after shot is fired
at killing range
and it’s hot and deafening
inside the Ratel,
but the wind
brushes through my hair
where I stand
in the top hatch
and trees and bushes
sweep past
as if screened in a movie house.
Enemy armour keeps exploding
and my voice sounds strange
and unfamiliar to me,
while I give directions
for the next killing.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Cassinga jump
Fear and tension was written over the faces
of paratroopers next to,
in front and at the back of me
when the red light
began to flash in the Hercules
and we went to action stations
still skimming barely over the tops
of taller trees at about two hundred feet
and most of us had two weeks earlier
been home at our civilian jobs.
One paratrooper vomited
right over me in yellow stinking
half fermented food
and the retching smell
made me nauseas as well
while the aircraft pitched steeply
with its last-minute manoeuvres
coming to jumping height
of eight hundred feet.
Mushroom clouds left by exploding bombs
billowed up from Cassinga
and in trenches I saw
people shooting upwards at us
and suddenly bombers dived
through our formation.
The sticks in front of me jumped
and air rushed into my face
at the open door
while the pit of my stomach went numb
and I stepped into space
falling, falling and seeing
a rocket-propelled grenade exploding
near the aircraft above me
and it veering away.
While the opening parachute jerked me up
I heard the deep roar
of a anti-aircraft gun
shooting from below
and it was clear that we
had jumped later
than we were supposed to
or the dropping zone
was too small to take
a full stick
of thirty-two paratroopers at a time.
We were dropping about
five hundred meters farther south
than were we should have been
and a strong wind
was driving from the northeast.
We landed in wooded terrain
which made grouping very difficult
and among the trees were drawing fire
before even touching down.
Immediately after hitting the ground
I returned fire
and the enemy fire became more sporadic
and we assaulted the group of buildings
that intelligence identified as the enemy
engineer complex,
running into groups
of our own B and C companies
and for a time was shooting at each other
before realizing it was own forces.
We were just taking the engineer complex
now formed up with the other soldiers
when we came under rocket attack
from RPG-7’s
and had to kill the crew
at a enemy B-10 recoilless gun
where I threw several hand grenades
and then ammunition stores
in the building complex started exploding
but only one paratrooper was wounded
when we took up our stop-line positions
to block off the escape route
lying south from Cassinga
and the anti-tank platoon was sent away
to set up a tank ambush
on the road running from Techamutete.
By this time I had picked up an enemy
LMG and more than enough
ammunition for it
and shot from the hip
at any movement that I saw
and until then it had been
easy as pie.
Then the commander of our company
left some men at the stop-line
and about twenty of us
along with him
went to the enemy vehicle park
where we ran into a crowd of civilians
fleeing into the surrounding bushes.
I opened up with the LMG
as we launched the attack
in the direction
of the lowered anti-aircraft guns
and we entered the trenches,
finding some civilians there,
but heavy fire came directly
from behind them.
It turned into a matter of killing
or be killed and even the women
that we met were armed
and in enemy uniform
and I lobbed hand grenades
into the next leg of the trench
and kept firing from the hip
and was splattered in blood
by a woman’s body
that was blown right out of the parapet
and what was left of her
was still in green fatigues
and blown to shreds.
Then I had nausea again,
retching uncontrollably
and somehow I stared to cry
with tears running down
my cheeks,
but like a machine moved on
seeing enemy soldiers
scrambling from the trenches
to replace the ones killed
at the three lowered anti-aircraft guns
with a bravery running near
to madness.
The closed quarter struggle
were worst than fierce
and cruelly savage
and we could only clear
just one leg of the zigzagging
ditches at a time
with supporting fire helping
from the outside.
There were screaming and crying
women and children among the enemy
and we had to kill or be killed
and a chill ran through me
and the noise was just terrible
with mortar bombs exploding
at the anti-aircraft guns,
shooting from almost
any direction onto them
and bullets ripping the walls
of the trench next to me
and I almost choked in the smoke,
dust and cordite fumes enveloping me
and finally those trenches were cleared
and the anti-aircraft guns stopped firing.
[References: LMG= Light machine gun. Read my poems Cassinga and Wings of destiny, for a full account of this battle and what happened when South African paratroopers faced enemy (Cuban) armour.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wanting to know if I am all right?
I dream about a helicopter
that is whining chattering
while I am shooting clattering
with the machinegun in the door
and in the dark night
I see tracers drawing lines
to down below
and see the enemy run
in the silver light
cast by the moon
and in the distance
a bolt of lightning falls
just past a place
were a torch hangs in the air
like a small sun
and it’s as if a rocket propelled grenade
zooms in from below,
brushes past
exploding behind us somewhere
and when I awake
I am still twitching next to you
and you touch me comforting
and want to know if I am all right?
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ablaze
Ablaze! An armoured car
is aflame and stuck in
a field of landmines
and enemy tanks are everywhere.
So soldiers say - on yesterday –
just as the dawn was grey
a Ratels wheels
set some landmines of
and it was stuck there
and received seven shells
from enemy tanks
and it’s a terrible, terrible thing.
So Generals say – on yesterday –
just as the sun was rising
we lost one Ratel-90 armoured car
stuck in a landmine field,
but she gave a brave fight
and the enemy lost
thirteen tanks that came
to take a shot at her.
So angels say – on yesterday –
just as sun lit the sky,
man played war games again
and used explosives, cannon and flame
and innocent men died
trying to survive
and it’s a pity
that man doesn’t know
how to live in peace.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Beyond enemy lines
Above me there’s an onyx sky
and the tarry night is fading fast
and I hear the roar
of enemy armour
and the crunching of tracks
echoes and sound very
near to me.
An electronic signal rushes
thousands of kilometres far
and goes into a night
filled with bright white stars
like a lighting bolt
falling in a dark black sky
and branching out to where
it has to go
to a place where Jacaranda trees
stand in purple bloom.
I match my wits against my fate
and crawl deeper into cover
of a thorn bush
and gird my soul to face
the enemy in war
and we lay and wait
and there are three of us
against a horde of enemy armour.
The light of dawn is still grey
and they get very near
and it’s a thundering sound
when the first tanks
and armoured cars appear
like hungry dragons
coming to the feast.
I look up in an indigo sky
and eagles and vultures
bend down out of the sun
and descend in deadly haste
transforming into Cheetah
and Mirage fighter jets
and the radio
let me talk to them
and the end of life
and dire chaos
is unleashed unexpectedly.
Only the birds of prey
save me from the hate
of great steel monsters,
that is ready to squash and kill
and missile and rocket arrows
leap descending out of the air
and red and yellow flames appear.
After a while the planes of war
thunder away to the South
and the fire fades
and around us there are
upturned and destroyed wrecks
of man’s war machines
and a slaughtering of humans
and the smell of death
cuts right through my breath,
as if it wants to engulf
and I retch and feel inhuman
and my comrades smile bravely
and say very well done
and around me
all other life is gone,
but for the three of us.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wings of destiny
I
Ask any parabat that jumped at Cassinga
and he would tell you
that destiny has wings.
While facing a battalion of
Cuban tanks and armoured cars,
out of the blue and as if by magic
a Buccaneer appeared.
There was nothing more beautiful
than to see that jet
making self-sacrificing dives,
before it flew off to disappear
into the blue sky,
but let me tell that heroic story
as I know it.
II
Coming back from a bombing raid on Cassinga
the next target of Captain Dries Marais was
the Swapo camp at Chetequera
and he insisted
on arming the Buccaneer bomber,
with armour penetrating rockets
in addition to the standard
high explosive rockets.
Andries Marais himself
couldn’t explain the reason
for the irregular request,
but kept on insisting
that every third rocket
should be armour piercing.
Even navigator Ernie Harvey
was perplexed with this request
and they were tense,
while preparing for
the strike mission.
The Buccaneer took of
and in a short while
crossed the Angolan border
and just when Ernie Harvey
were going to check in
with Tactical headquarters
things went mad
on the operational frequency.
The pilot Warneke
who had relieved them at Cassinga,
reported a armoured battalion
consisting out of tanks
and BTR 152 personnel carriers approaching.
The operational frequency
was far too cluttered
to get through to Tactical headquarters
and they heard
two Mirages being scrambled,
but there wasn’t time to arm them
and they had only
only 30 mm cannon.
You need an excellent navigator
to keep tract to a target
over the featureless Angolan countryside
and navigator and weapon systems operator Ernie Harvey
had replaced the maps
with the ones of the new target,
but the navigation computer
still had the settings.
III
When fighting against tanks
and armoured cars
with only a few landmines
and rocket propelled grenades
to stop them,
even light machine guns
are quite useless
and still I kept on shooting
while the LMG’s barrel got red hot
and I tried to keep the enemy back.
There was great joy
to see two Mirages
cutting the armoured cars apart,
but the surprise on the enemy
of that Buccaneer
dropping out of the sky
with its armour piercing
rockets will stay with me
to eternity.
Two tanks were shattered
and stood burning
after the first past
and the twin-barrelled 14.5 mm anti-aircraft guns
that the BTRs were trailing
were being deployed
and the Buccaneer
took one of the anti-aircraft guns out.
Suddenly the air was filled
with Puma helicopters landing
and the Buccaneer
took out a BTR
and two tanks started shelling us
and the Buccaneer kept diving
at close to the speed of sound
until the tanks disappeared
into the bush
and we lifted of safely.
There was nothing more beautiful
than to see that jet
making self-sacrificing dives,
before it flew off to disappear
into the blue sky.
Later I heard that 17 hits
were counted on that Buccaneer
that safely landed at Grootfontein base
and to this day,
I know about no greater heroes
than the two
flying in that Buccaneer.
.
[Reference: Cassinga Swapo military camp / town. Parabat=> South African Airborne / Parachuting soldier.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
It was in a light blue sky
It was in a light blue sky
on a cloudless day,
that images with great speed.
swept out of the sun
We cheered as the war planes
passed overhead
and waved at Mirages,
but they were enemy Migs.
Missiles and bombs dropped
and a destroyed buffel apc burned
and my ears resounded,
while I rolled into a ditch and saw the planes
turning and pitching away.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Rain, rain falling
Rain, rain falling
from a thunder clad sky
with rockets, projectiles and blood
and the oncoming enemy
almost everywhere
in ironclad armour
coming to the day
of their slaughter
receiving sizzling thunder
to the tune
of howitzers, rocket trucks,
armoured cars and tanks
and rifle machineguns
and the Lomba River runs red
while there’s havoc everywhere
and the venom of vomit
fills my mouth
while I struggle to breathe
in the face
of annihilation
of a deadly enemy.
[Reference: Rain by Dikobe wa Mogale.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!