Atop the army man and his helicopter broke
The eerie silence of the calm and haunting hill,
When he slowly flew over the rebel’s nest
Nestled amongst the green-veiled tableland.
The buzzing machine was disturbing.
It was made known in the next few minutes
In the spectacular exhibition
Of who lords over the teeny-weeny land
In the teeny-weeny dot of territory.
Some youth appeared and pelted stones and more stones;
In the salvo of stones were included
Defunct magazines, animal bones, balls of mud,
Anything that they can held in a hand and hurl.
Like a drunk suddenly loosing control
of his intoxicated mind
The chopper ricocheted as it flew
and fled in a serpentine drift.
The call for action ceased, the silence re-emerged;
And all the anxious voices were muted
It was so quiet as some other youth stood
With long and fresh green, bamboo sticks.
They gazed at the sky as if the sky had hidden
Their enemy and his machine;
There were grass leaves, singing the songs of resilience;
Next day the whole day
The helicopter did everything to cure the hangover
From the previous day’s shots of stones and bamboo sticks.