African Heart

Kobus Prinsloo

The hunt ends
in a cloud of dust and dirt.
With vicious efficiency,
the killing frenzy builds to a blurred crescendo.

Within the madness, within the violent struggle
between survival and ultimate failure,
occurs the calm process of life slowly fading away,
screaming and growling faded,
so tired,
so cold in this intimate embrace.
The dark curtain slowly draws.

The dust has settled as dusk creeps in,
dark clouds gather from far-off places,
and in a mangled patch of veld,
the loneliness remains.
Silence covers the ground,
crawls across the plains, up into the trees.
Nothing stirs as the broken heart lies still,
grows colder.

Come rain, come torrents of tears,
to flood this day away.
Bring thunder and heat,
incinerate,
leave trees as blackened skeletons,
to forever mark this date.

There is no life remaining here,
dark blood cakes the earth.
A broken vessel, once filled with life,
splatters with dust, as heavy drops begin to fall.

Now the soft rush of the rain,
a misty curtain cloaks the mourning trees.
The lioness has gone, but they remember,
the fierce flash of the feline fang,
the nature of the beast,
and her hunger to destroy.

Tomorrow will be dry and hot.
The scalding sun will cross the empty sky.
Vulture eyes will pry from high,
and scavengers will taste the air.
The hard and empty days,
will follow like the ones before.
And fertile soil will bring new life,
as death will feed the earth.

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