The bush creaks with the sounds of dryness.
The dust rises beneath our feet.
It seems impossible in this desert
That any animals can survive
And yes we have seen them;
The browsing giraffes and the
Klipspringer, mountain antelope,
And if there are ungulates, there are
How many times have you seen
Lion in this remote location of
Right here where we are standing?
Right here? Where you are standing.
The rifle is real. It is for
protection from wild creatures
And more especially wild
The scourge of the bush,
The lame human beings persuaded
To kill for a pittance
So that the rich corruptors can
‘Make a kill’ at their expense
And at the cost of a life
The life of a dying out beast.
I carry a rifle.
You feel safe.
We gain courage.
We watch carefully
Every movement in the bush
And our eyes never rest for long
Between the rifle and the trees
And even the stones
Which have a habit of turning
Into something else if you do not yet
Know how to look.
The heat pervades our skin;
We feel malaise.
It is time to retreat from this
Ancient, rocky outcrop
And seek the breeze of a
Moving Land Rover.
Words and photo copyright to Englepip ©