En.Citatepedia^®.ro

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
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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
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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
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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
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Carrion

a Enemy soldier lies motionless
and his limbs are twisted,
reaching for the last
energy of live
and a hand still holds a gun.

Blood and guts
are splattered about,
where a mortar bomb
hit home
and some flies gather.

The strong sulphur smell
mixed with fried human
burns my nose,
where smoke rises
from a shot out
enemy battle tank.

Another tank stand moveless
with its barrel
still aiming somewhere
and the remains
of its occupants hatched inside.

About a hundred Cuban tanks
and twice that much
enemy armoured cars,
stand lifeless in the African bush.

The battle scene is a graveyard
and my Ratel tank destroyer drives past,
to cross the Lomba river.

Before nightfall I fight
the darkness of my soul
and struggle with God
and to this day,
still no one can answer why.

[References: => Ratel tank destroyer=>Ratel ZT-3 (the anti-tank guided missile version) . Reference are given here to the “battle for Africa, ” fought by 61 South African mechanized battalion group and 32 South African battalion group against four brigades of the Soviet-led FAPLA forces (the 47th,59th,16th and 21st brigades) in Angola in August 1987.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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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
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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
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The Tinanmen Tank Man

What happened to the Tinanmen Tank Man perhaps only the Chinese Authorities do know
The brave one who stared down the tanks of a powerful Nation in time back two decades ago
He stood on the pathway of the huge tanks dancing and swinging his shopping bags above his head
In his eyes the look of sheer courage against all odds he did not show any dread.

Like his identity what happened to him is a mystery and as a mystery will remain
But the story of his act of defiance will be retold again and again
A story of unbeatable courage from the massascre of Tinanmen Square
To the oppressed of the world a true hero people like him to say the least rare.

His act of courage of the highest order to the Tank Man Tango Dance has given rise
In an act of defiance most would see as extremely courageous though some would not see as very wise
Alone he stood on the pathway of the tanks a Chinese Horatius in history he will live on
A moment in Human History that will be remembered when most other memories to posterity will have gone.

For his act of marvellous courage perhaps with his life he did pay
The hero for Human Rights on June the fifth 1989 from Beijing from here far away
He will always be remembered as the Tinanmen Tank Man the story of his bravery is told on every Shore
A story of courage that will live for centuries if not even forever more.

poem by Francis Duggan
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A woman unconscious

The enemy were almost at the door,
coming with tanks, armoured cars,
rocket launching trucks,
helicopter gunship, fighter jets,
with supporting Cuban troops
under Russian command

and day after day
I prayed for it to end,
for the killing of them, to stop,
where my Ratel armoured car
send tank after tank and many more armoured cars
with phosphorous shells
straight to hell

and by calamity the future changed,
turned into a different world,
changed from the one
scared of them, dropping the annihilating bomb
of millions of people being killed and dead

and at home, the welcoming did not come
at my return
and your were not there,
were killed in a car accident instead,
were for a time unconscious
in a white hospital bed
and the evidence of how cruel
the world can be
still walks with me,
while life goes on.

[Reference: A woman unconscious by Ted Hughes.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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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
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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
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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
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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
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I saw him smoke a cigar

I saw him smoke a cigar
and the binoculars
brought him here with me.

His cap was at a rakish angle
and sweat from the early morning sun,
was running down his face.

He stood in his tank’s open hatch
and gestured and laughed
with a comrade.

It was like a moment of peace,
but my Ratel’s gun
send a deadly shell at point blank range.

He was no more and splattered
and just another casualty of war
and burning white phosphor decimated
the enemy tank’s entire crew.

poem by Gert Strydom
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My buddies (a reply to Boris Slutsky)

All young white men at a time
was forced into the military, into war
or had to serve a three year jail term

and most of my buddies came home,
but some did not:

Parachuting into a enemy camp
there was one close friend that died,
the other three I hardly knew
and to the government it was
an incidental small thing against
seven hundred and fifty
enemy SWAPO and Cuban casualties

and on one patrol one close buddy
stepped on a landmine
were blown up and no one else was hurt,
and to the government it was
an incidental small thing against
the enemy that had lost
little lest than a full platoon.

In Angola when we met enemy armour,
turned FAPLA / Cuban divisions
under Soviet leadership into junk

I saw a Ratel armoured car
that was trapped in a landmine field
that had been shot out
with the holes
were enemy tank projectiles went in
and every one inside was burnt, incinerated
if not blown to bits, turned into ash

and it had been only one of eleven
armoured cars
and troop carriers that was lost
some of only thirty-one soldiers dead
but there was pain that flashed through me
when I saw it

and to the government it was
an incidental small thing against
four thousand seven hundred and eighty five killed
on the Cuban/FAPLAN side,94 tanks
and hundreds of enemy combat vehicles destroyed

and now no one thinks
of the sacrifice that all of these soldiers made,
of the hundreds of thousands
of returning citizen force soldiers
who were nuts, bomb happy
with post traumatic stress syndrome
or whatever you want to call it

as to the government it is
an incidental small thing,
that happened in a distant past
as if the ex-soldiers are non-existing,
even seen as apartheid criminals by some.

[References: Buddies here used as name used in the South African Defence Force for comrades. Ex-soldiers here used instead of war veterans, as in African circles the word war veterans has got a new derogatory meaning connected to it. My Comrades by Boris Slutsky.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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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
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Living With The Enemy

I gave you all that you wanted
and still you come back for more
You say that you're brokenhearted
but then you walk out the door
Maybe it is time for us to say goodbye
Where are the tears you never cried?
Hey baby what you got on your mind
are you looking for some sympathy?
I can tell you if it's a truth or a lie
'Cos it's just like living,
living with the enemy
You got me going in circles,
I'm slowly loosing my head
What did I do to deserve this,
you make me wish I was dead
Tell me I'm wrong and I'll be on my way
See you around another day
Hey baby what you doin' tonite?
Are you giving me the perfect dream
I'm so tired and I don't wanna fight
'Cos it's just like living,
living with the enemy, enemy
Living with the enemy, living with the enemy, enemy
Living with the enemy,enemy
Living with the enemy, living with the enemy, enemy

song performed by by Ozzy Osbourne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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Enemy Of All

A father is the enemy
When he left unpaid debts
A foolish son is the enemy of
His parents
A beautiful wife is the enemy of
Her husband
A mother with loose character
Is the enemy of her children
A greedy corrupt and notorious king
Is the enemy of the country men
O friend, remember
If you are not doing any good deeds
Beneficial to others you are the enemy
Of your soul and enemy of you
As you are destroying yourself
As your same soul is there in the body of all.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Enemy Fire

Enemy fire
Enemy blanks
Enemy colored roses
Red colored tanks
Its too late baby
Baby, its too late
Learn how to change
And maybe I could stay
Enemy fire
Enemy planes
Enemy roses and red colored chains
Its too late baby
Baby, its too late
Learn how to change
And maybe I could stay
Um... no

song performed by by Ryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tanks For The Memories

tank you, tank you, tank you
we told the fish, those wonderful fish
those little tropical fish, that could reboot our dreary days
we could imagine their little fish politics and why one was chased
the tail nippers, the food stealers, the baby filled fish mothers
what wonderful memories I have of the fish tanks of yesterday
and today, now that my child has befriended the fish
relax, techno man, relax
and just rest with the fishes

poem by Louis Marvin
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