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It has wings,
flying to and from,
destinations of choice.
Its wings flapping,
Like that of hawks,
Prowling for preys.
Wings of death dangling,
Far into the sketchy sky,
Sleep-flying like night bat.
Awaking at high altitude,
descending at lower level,
Finding rest in safety spot.
But if creation clashes,
with creatures amid air,
Death looms on its wings.
Crashing into deep forest,
Or deep waters or swamps,
Occupants perishing on wings
of death.
With breadwinners gone home
Flying back to the Creator,
On the wings of death,
Without goodbye, but biles.
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