WE WERE SOLDIERS
The dead sun swooned and sag into clouds
drizzle on hunted bog, the large footprint
marked endless journey of lion-heart soldier
dragged and limped with a shriek, he fall
with a sickening thud on stump groaned, the
camouflage face dull and blackened bleak,
respire in the thick dingy odour, hairy
nostrils stinky with blood his death, look
frenzy, doomed, the reclined Brocken spine,
even the jackboat one legged and haversack
too heavy the pus gurgled out of the eyes he
winced and smile in his death. This is the top
of the mainly soldier whose bones rest on this
stump still and the footprint still visible with
blisters of wind of glory

By kelvin Mangwende