The Firing Line Poem by Alison Mujati

The firing line

It's needles
Tiny piercing but literally invisible
As I stand feebly
Appearance staunch and invincible.

Fast and furious.
The west shot a movie
I stand here feeling it all,
It's that pollen grain
Ferried within wind wave
See how it rest pathway of my nostrils.
I'm huffing and puffing
Sinuses of no explanation.

Be it a speck of dust.
Hit or hammered from a metallic rust.
The bullet-speed particle.
Its impact agonizing straight.
My eyeble a cold comfort.

Have pain reach the back of your head.
That corner of a windowframe reaching out.
The rest is drama tell me of that anguish.

As a father to a family
Is it easy to be a provider
To have souls looking out
Where you enter, nobody cares
You become a hero after putting food on the table.
Always a villain with the least provided.
When will the trend end

Are you a mother by virtue of just becoming a female,
Or that uncapped soldier.
Neither a corporal nor lieutenant.
You breath through the wound.
Long rejected for some like you.
Become a self couple to raise them children.
The mother, the father
Such are many and genuine.

I see the girls
The beauty of brethren of universe.
Pearls rubies and diamonds
Precious, a vibrant contigent.
So vulnerable to hawks like men.
Their story always become legends in the long run
Experience never teach any lesson.
It's a patch of scruffy life.