And so begins the day (Namibia poem)
Posted: October 23, 2012 Filed under: Uncategorized 4 CommentsThis poem is more of a hymn really – in praise of the beautiful country of Namibia.
Somewhere in Namibia
a leopard is lying beneath a tree –
blind siding us tourists, would be hunters –
with its leaf dappled camoflauge,
its limpid torpor, energy inert
yet a creature so readily explosive.
Nearby, cheetahs will be splayed in threesomes
on a red dirt road
a regally indifferent display.
And so begins the day,
the iron aged redded
silvered grassed, bed spreaded
yellowed mountained, dry fountained day.
At Etosha, the jackels will still be bewildering
in their dog like innocence,
concealing a vicious core,
slinking, sylph like,
across the yellow flowered savannah floor.
And so begins the day,
the wilderbeest, kudu, springbok freckled day,
the guinea fowled, goshawked, startled starlinged day,
as ostriches primp and pirouette
unlikely ballerinas
silhouetted against the elephant skinned hills.
At Doro Nawas, the fort like, bush burnt walled cabins
will be staring at the purple mountain rimmed prairie.
And so begins the day,
the eleven elephants trailed, green grassed and water holed
Egyptian goosed, African shelducked, blacksmith plovered
warthog clovered day.
Would that we could have stayed
to watch these desert adapted, brown dirt slapping
done and dusted, skin crusted
matriarch led
cooled grasses ahead, sublime group
marching solemnly along the Namibian parade.
At Erongo
the sun will already be lingering upon
early morning baboons and dassies,
embracing the dawn ritual of greeting the sun,
whilst this yellow warmth
falling pink upon precariously placed boulders,
is that of youth, renewal, the beginning:
throughout the ever baking day
it falls more harshly, less sympathetically
and, like us, it ends the day
older.
But, so begins the day
the quietly tented, spread eagled , mountain valleyed day,
the cuddling dassied, plump doved, love birded,
yellow canaried day.
At Kulala Wilderness Lodge
even now
the greened mountains are peaked by balloons
and the plain is buttered by creamy dancing grasses.
A weaver sociably passes by my balconied morning
and, sadly for me at least, this dawning
also heralds a return, a parting
for this day , we too, take flight,
no worries (we hope) of being predated,
simply put – repatriated.
But still, so begins the day,
the red duned, sharply shadowed,angled and sand sculpted day,
the dancing while lady spidered, snaked , lizarded and jackel tracked,
haring through the dunes
film crewed, acacia strewed, desert safaried day.
To come, the road to Windhoek
and the return to our own home bound herd
African sky embedded, emboldened and enamoured,
undiminished, undeterred.
Going back, it’s not that bad.
And so begins the day,
African adored abroad,
and journeying along side lovely you,
is to be,
ever glad.
