The Curse of the Skies

Gloves white shielding knuckles pale
Tautened like an iron rail
Gripping, gripping till it seems
Blood’s a–leaking at the seams.
Nimble hands keep at their job
Unmindful of an anguished sob
Stemming from the cerebrum
Spreading like the beat of drum.
The stomach makes a mild protest
And settles down as best
It can to watch an aileron roll
Finally take it’s heavy toll;
Jerking, jerking till it seems
Guts a–spilling at the seams.
That fiery orb whose ugly wrath
Devours all in it’s raging path
Magnified so intensely
Filtering through the canopy
Shining, shining, till it seems
Head’s a-busting at the seams.
Lustreless eyes and wan face
Plead a totally hopeless case
Downcast eyes suppliantly
Turn to the belligerent IP
Says he with apparent glee
‘You’re barking up the wrong tree’!
Just to prove his point he tries
To push the nose down in a dive;
All the while he’s pulling g’s,
Blood’s a–draining out with ease.
The stomach begs for quick release
And throws up over your knees.
Why can’t man just understand
That he was made to live on land?
Why can’t he be just content
To gaze on up in bewilderment?
This curse grips man in its curly claws
For defying nature’s strait-laced laws.

Note: This poem was written in the January of 1977 at PAF Academy Risalpur. It was published in the Sep/Oct 2012 issue of the ‘Navy News’.

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