Trinity's Art

POETRY

The Sniper

The desert winds blow

With sand grains and microstones

The stone houses

They stand amidst the sands

The heat shoots up

In the city

Not by the sun

But by guns and missiles of the

Bomber planes fall

The heat was a furnace and the

 sniper sweated salts

His helmet on his head was his own relief

And a bottle of mineral water.

His eyes stayed on the lens

Waiting for his target

All day, he was waiting

From the heat to the time of dusk

He was waiting ready for the shot.

The town was occasionally filled with people

Today was not the day

Few people sat on the street

Others wandered away

The night would soon set in

Though it was still daylight

And our sniper waited for the man

To come in sight

Nothing seen on the horizon, but searing

Heat and distorting images

All of a sudden

From out of nowhere

A black figure shone

From the base of the house

It just popped up high

The Sniper put his finger on the trigger

Aiming for the target

He let it rip

The figure was down in a minute

It lay flat on the ground

Dead, and still as stone

Like a split coconut

Mean terrorist, that’s what he was

Using that brain to kill and plan,

For the bombing of non- Muslim lands

Now the blood of his head

Like thick sauce, was sprayed on the floor

The snipers job was over,

A head claimed for  the day

And as the terrorists family mourned

To the American base,

The sniper walked his way.

 

          The rowing man

The rowing man He rows

Through sun, and wind

And hard – drop rain

From the cove he starts,

Fish, prawns and auto-parts

the island is where he starts

Ferrying across is an art

His skin tans in sun

and  in his basket

melt the buns

Never being paid in full

As the product is always

Screwed

But still he goes on

Day and night

And then beginning

from twilight

he rows across the sea

and the salts eat at his feet

but  finally he makes to port

and has to ferry back a goat

As the night begins to fall

With love and food he goes

To feed his family

And finally to bed he crawls

——— Trinity Lobo

                                     The Portuguese Pigeon

 The Portuguese Pigeons

 They squat on the pavements

 Circles they keep goin around in

Wonder how the do so ?

But they never fly

And they just stick to the ground

And take their lovely circles

Round and round they go

A lot of shit around

But for them , life is sound

And their lives gel with the earth

But you are a bird,

A bird with wings

The treasure of your existence

Spread your wings

Go Fly away

For wings are to fly

And not be closed deep within

For flights leads to new places

And the birth of new eyes

So don’t stay down, bugger

Like a plane

Conquer the Skies!!!

—- Trinity Lobo

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