Achilles at Troy
The walls of the enemy city believed by them
to be made by the gods,
rise up in front of us
stripped, empty like hills,
looking impregnable
and higher up I see some archers
with their armour shining in the midday heat
rising bows and shooting arrows into the sky
believing, wishing and praying to hit one of us.
I drive with my chariot far out of their reach,
around and around the city, as if inspecting it
for any frailty, a place to penetrate with force
searching for Hector
while fierce fighting is going on
and anger, great rage roars within my heart
when at the main gate I stop and wait,
before roaring at the top of my voice
for Hector to come out, to face me.
My black steel shield, my black steel armour
my great spear, my bow and sword
are at the ready and I am implacable
watching, willing for the main gate to open
and see a lizard basking in the sun on a nearby rock,
as it probably has done since being born,
my heart is torn by the death
of my familiar one,
Patroclus my companion and friend
and in pain I roar again
calling Hector a coward and a fool
and my small army
of brave Myrmidons gather around me
heading of the enemy, killing scores of them
banging their swords on their shields
every time I call the name out
of the Champion of Troy
and like me they are ready to destroy.
Again I give reigns to the horses
driving at speed with my chariot
around the city inspecting
the fighting men more carefully
and nowhere I can see Hector,
nowhere I find him destroying our own
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poem by Gert Strydom
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