Friday, 11 May 2012


As the milky moon, Madonna of the night, snuggles down to rest beneath the misty mountain blanket, the warrior sun of the universe stretches his arms slowly, testing his strength against the still new & tender day. I observe this miracle of life from a distance, tentatively testing, tasting, touching all before me. the old man wrapped in aeons of wrinkles & a grey blanket just as old, sits on his haunches rubbing his brown crepe hands together, warming his soul over an ancient smokey fire, a fire whose flames  warm millions or just him in this old, tired continent. The old man´s hair is as white as the under belly of a new born eland & his gaze almost the same translucency, but not his heart, which knows too much. Warrior sun grows in stature, & the world takes on a rosy glow. The hippo yawns, rippling the still silky mauve water of the Okavango. The crocodile glides silently through hope-coloured reeds, not wanting a bad name yet, not wanting to rob the day of her quiet dignity, still so tender. The lion smiles a gentle smile at the grazing impala who knows she is safe because the night has past, & the lion has feasted. The shrike strikes the first worm; the eagle pierces the wet glass river & claims the life of the day´s first fish. The dove coos, & the mamba still slumbers in the branch of his thorn tree, under the watchful eye of the camouflaged leopard skulking in the leaves above him. The elephant sips the cool muddy water through his straw trunk before the warrior above turns his water hole into molten lead. The giraffe reaches into the heaven kissed tree tops to nibble at the dew quenched leaves. The mother with the sleepy-eyed Picinnini shawled to her warm back, bends & sings, sings & bends, while preparing the breakfast of Africa, porridge in the three legged cauldron, the food that starts & ends the African day. The night has gone, the day has begun. the cool smokey mist disappears, & as the warrior sun grows in the sky, the scorching, burning, searing, cruel son of his heat beats down on the dusty thorn & scrubby plains, another African dawn ends, giving birth to yet another African day.

No comments:

Post a Comment