Above a enemy camp
A mirage fighter jet flies past
like a angel going in advance
on the crusade.
There’s an enemy camp
going up in flames
and clouds of smoke
hanging ominous
over the place
while our aeroplane
flies to the right height.
With the sun
showing its head
over the horizon,
I fall like a bat
breaking through the airspace
and right around me
the sky is full
of other bats
that decent angry on the target
with fangs exposed downwards.
[Reference: Bats here refers to “parabats” as South African airborne soldiers were known.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Added by Poetry Lover
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