I saw an enemy soldier smoking
a long cigar and the flaming match
lit up the sight
and the glowing red
draw my aim
and the shell soundless fell
under the tree
and stars were in a black night
glowing as if knowing
where the angel of death
would visit next
and I used a branch as a gun rest
took another magazine
from the webbing on my chest
and clipped it on to the rifle.
A soft breeze started blowing
and I adjusted the sight
searching through the dark night
for movement or anything
that gave away the location
of the next enemy soldier.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem