A Dying Soldier Poem by Gert Strydom

When he closes his eyes
a helicopter hangs chattering
in the sky
and I feel his pulse beat fading
while I try to press close
the shooting wound
from which the red is oozing

and his face
is deadly silent and pale
his eyes flicker open
perplexed, with pain
and something unknown to me in them,
they become taught
and the lines of his mouth are set in stone
while his breathing goes silent

There is sand swarming up
while the flying machine is landing
and through that wind
I smell his blood.