Playing Mig roulette, along we would drive
without cover,
listening for reports from commandos
then pull over,
to hide under trees and camouflage nets,
then recover;
after the futile enemy bombing
again armoured cars would be driving.
[Poet's note: Mig here refers to Mig-21 and Mig-23 fighter bombers flown by the enemy Cuban / FAPLA air-force.]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem