POETRY
The SniperThe 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
