Poetry

In the dark night I load rockets
and stand away
while they are fired against the enemy
and I see them drawing red lines
with long flames
burning beyond them
 
and its like as a child
when I went to the drive-in
and saw how they shoot men off
into space,
on the way to the moon
 
but these rockets are aimed
at T55 tanks and BTR armoured cars
and soldiers of the Cuban and FAPLA enemy
that burn in unquenched flames
 
when at a distance the deadly arrows rain down
and I can smell the fragrance of death,
gunpowder and prosperous
on the evening breeze
while I watch the fireworks.