The constant buzzing, is the language in the silence of the loud,
It´s all around me, in me, in the earth & the high floating cloud,
The rhythm of my heartbeat, is heartbeat of Africa´s old drum,
It is where I feel within my blood, it’s far, beating & droning, hum.
It´s old voices of the ancients, that I hark upon the distant breeze,
It´s the whispers of the ancestors, telling lost secrets in the leaves,
And I can hear the thundered ire, from the angered tongue of Thor,
And within the savannahs of my mind, the mighty beasts do roar.
The cascades of wide rivers, fierce oceans & the calm tropical seas,
The screeching of old seed pods, released from tired autumn trees,
Resounding of the hooves, thundering over deserts & iced tundras,
The hot passionate lustings, where dust bowls meets the thunders.
Listen to the falling raindrops, gentle tears of Spanish lost alondras,
The tip-toeing footsteps of soft blue shadows & dewy grey sombras,
Blood of the Celts, running in ruby streams, of my now ageing veins,
Plaintive cries of bison, running through dry prairies & golden plains.
Old eyes now may fail me; my sight has gone with the coming of age,
But it is the resounding of the echoings, that makes me now the sage,
It´s in the dropping of seedlings & scatterlings, into earth´s waiting bowl,
That I hear all life pulsating & all its echoes are ancient within my soul.