The Kalahari

-





Its  a killer with no conscience 
they say,
Here the slow and lazy 
have to pay 
Its dantes blazing inferno, 
nothing less nothing more
just like hell from folklore
shadows run in fear,
seeing the vultures
in the skies clean and clear
The jungle mourns at the animals it once fed,
now all stone dead
the sand sizzles in the scorching heat
once you enter, there is no retreat
a place where nature functions to kill
to cause utmost destruction.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

As July passes.

-
I saw the city melt last summer. All its noise and infinite detail pooled at my feet in a simple mess of concrete and glass. It slowly crept forwards before whisking me away into the depths of an immaterial place. It felt comforting to be swept off my feet. Worldly rules became weightless, swirling into the same inseparable shades of grey that I was wading through in silence. This night was not to be reasoned with. Rhythm had no reign here either. The hours were locks of charcoal hair, unravelling in even the lightest of breaths. In this impenetrable vastness I heard the floods of the desire crashing against walls that were slowly giving way. The torrent moved so quickly that right in front of my eyes its frothing rage froze into an undisturbed stillness. Wisps of doubt crystallised into unshakeable belief. When the mess of grey and silver retreated and gradually froze, the streets didn’t look the same. The corners weren’t quite as sharp and the bends seemed to turn without end. ...
Read more

Transient

-
On a damp February morning, I found myself in the kitchen again. Letting the countertop drain the last ounce of warmth from my palms, I stood immovable like the air that was pressing against my chest.  A dull thud broke the silence as each second passed. The leaking faucet was shedding hefty tears in remembrance. My eyes glazed over as I watched the clock on the micro w a ve, while its garish digits rearranged themselves like clumsy children in a school play. They spelled out half past four.  Oddly, the street lights were out cold. The ground and sky were melting together into a thick black ooze that entombed everything in its path.The darkness was so profound that it filtered into the room like swelling beams of sunlight.  In one corner all the pots, pans and glasses were cuddled together in a confusing heap, lost in the depths of a dreamless sleep. Instead of fixing myself a cup of coffee, I stood there adoring them with envy.  Maybe if I stood still enough, I too...
Read more

Marionette

-
Drunk on the savour of the nightly bloom, I’m drawn deep into the settling fog. I don’t know where I am or how far I’ve strayed, but midnight feels farther than dawn. The wind has hummed itself to sleep, leaving an awkward silence in its wake. Now it’s just the echo of my hollow footsteps and the sweet scent of October in the air. Shattered blades of moonlight stab through the crevices in the clouds. As I walk through its dappled light, I fade in and out of existence, before a sudden flash of lightning carves right through my tepid daze.  But I do not bleed. My wooden flesh does not grow weary. Maybe my nerves of string are too tangled to tell. My blood once knew its way through the valleys of my skin, but now, it’s frozen still. Why can’t I burn at the gentlest kiss of light, in a million shades of amber like the autumn rain? Or blossom like these Alstonias, to greet every dull eve with ethereal grace? Will I ever be unwary as their flowers, surrendering to the will of every s...
Read more