Pointing Gun
A heat wave was blowing,
The sun was roasting clouds,
The army vehicles were hiding,
The sandy dirt was flying heap,
And pouring as showers of rain.
The soldiers were going forward,
With their pointing gun,
A bottle of water and rock sack,
A loaded man was walking,
In a sweat pool under his hat.
Fear was crossing a side,
Death was honouring a pride,
A dignity for a nation,
A price for liberty,
A human paid to a human as enemy.
Copyright © Daljit Khankhana | Year Posted 2005
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