There is no life
no movement
But only this man in uniform
standing on the hill, concealed
overlooking this forlorn village

He cranes his neck to see
more clearly the village
where his first cries were heard
where his umbilical cord was buried
where his fallen tribal brothers
are buried beside their ancestors
in the depths of the earth
in this forsaken village

Over grown by nettle trees,
Overtaken by thorn bushes
Where rats build their houses
Where lonely dogs lament at night
A sudden rustling in the leaves
gives the man in uniform the creeps
as fallen warriors take up arms
to continue the tribal war
and defend this spooky village

The man in a fake army uniform
with his .303, flees in fear
never once looking back.