Poetry

(after Bernard Odendaal)
 
The bush is silent
fear flies up with a black coot,
each weapon does train.
 
         *
 
The radio screech
with its aerial tree high;
a meaningless halt.
 
         *
Equipped with just
light skeleton type webbing;
the spoor becomes faint.
 
         *
The sun burns hell hot,
the rifle, bullets are heavy;
we use the compass. 
 
         *
 
Boondock night is filled
with reconnoitre of the heart;
half ration tastes bad.
 
         *
 
Without some water
in the scorching heat and wind,
the track disappears.
 
         *
 
Like a dragonfly
a helicopter swoops down
and we leave the bush.
 
         *
Cannot find hostiles!
In situation report:
still searching the heart.
 
 
[Reference: “krabbeling van ‘n hakkejag” (Writings about a hot pursuit) by Bernard Odendaal.]