With a bow dangled on his left shoulder, the unsympathetic hunter stormed into the woodlands,
In a mission to terminate the clangorous birds with a slingshot in his hands,
Mathinza the village hunter was a quiet man who isolated himself from the villagers,
With his filthy uncombed hair, little children were scared of him,

He used to slay any warm blooded bird from the beak family,
Inconsiderate of their age, colour nor their state of life at home,
Mathinza as his name insinuated, he unsparingly crushed their abdomens to death,
His numerous arrows were more sharper than a brand new razor blade,

He was considered an enemy in the lineage of the untamed,
Equipped with the shooting skills of a trained marksman,
His catapult obeyed his silent commands as he dumbly crept in the woods,
Half a day was enough for him to head back home with his spoil,

Whistling like the ancient diesel-fed engines, he dragged his feet on the terrain,
The smell that exuded from his hairy armpits would suffocate a toddler,
No one with right his senses whatsoever would willingly greet him,
His bloody dry hands was a sign of a deadly nimrod, a ruthless hornbill hunter !