Flames Poem by Gert Strydom

“I see flames coming out of a Ratel IFV
and how smoke vapours rises from it,
while it’s shot out
where it’s captured by a minefield.

Bleeding and burning comrades die
and their names and faces,
are burnt into my mind.

Even if I rise my eyes
to the heaven
I still cannot understand
till this day,
why some had to pay
such an expensive price
and precisely what their lives bought.

It’s something to die in honour,
but another thing to life
in a country