Mar 2015
Concealed and camouflaged in the long savannah grass
He waits downwind as still as a sleeping flamingo
Careful not to make the slightest sound
This valley is the richest in the land
Teeming with a mouthwatering selection of the most robust
Game under the African sky
He draws back his bow and sets his quiver aflight and with a powerful ******
It lands dead in the heart of the beast he has marked
The hunter collects his prize
Dinner was good tonight
The villagers dance around and adorn him with melodies of their praises
‘We swell with pride and plenty, we pride ourselves with plenty,
Plenty by the skilled hands of our most cunning hunter’
Only he is not at all present at this celebration for his honor
His heart and mind are fixated on a craving
That the liver of this buffalo did not satisfy
In fact it was as good as gall to him because the liver he longs for
The one which has him engulfed in a fog of insanity
Can only be likened to food that is fit for a god
Ah! He knows how the gods delight to dine
The terror of this revelation should be revolting enough to end this craving
But no
His eyes glisten wildly in the glare of the fire
Looking up they dart from person to person as he broods contemplatively
Over each one like a predator sizing up his prey for weaknesses
In their innocence the children rush to embrace him
Joyfully oblivious of his cruel intentions
And under the cover of darkness he slips away with a naïve child
The roasted liver melts in his mouth like fat in a hot cooking ***
He savors every morsel of it, indulging himself slowly
So that his immersion in this little paradise might last a little longer
No thought comes to mind of the little girls terrified whimpers
As he slit her throat and bled her before extracting her tasty liver
Only the splendid musky sweetness of it now has him in an indulgent daze
Now that he has found the desire of his flesh that eluded him for so long
Weeping and keening will echo through the village and those beyond
Women will wane and sing of loss and sorrow
Old men will dull with woe as the laughter of naïve children slowly ceases
Young men will search far & wide in futility for the monster amongst them
Yet they will not find it
And until his fall the land remains afflicted by the wake of his craving
He waits downwind as still as a sleeping flamingo
Careful not to make the slightest sound
This valley is the richest in the land
Teeming with a mouthwatering selection of the most robust
Game under the African sky
He draws back his bow and sets his quiver aflight and with a powerful ******
It lands dead in the heart of the beast he has marked
The hunter collects his prize
Dinner was good tonight
The villagers dance around and adorn him with melodies of their praises
‘We swell with pride and plenty, we pride ourselves with plenty,
Plenty by the skilled hands of our most cunning hunter’
Only he is not at all present at this celebration for his honor
His heart and mind are fixated on a craving
That the liver of this buffalo did not satisfy
In fact it was as good as gall to him because the liver he longs for
The one which has him engulfed in a fog of insanity
Can only be likened to food that is fit for a god
Ah! He knows how the gods delight to dine
The terror of this revelation should be revolting enough to end this craving
But no
His eyes glisten wildly in the glare of the fire
Looking up they dart from person to person as he broods contemplatively
Over each one like a predator sizing up his prey for weaknesses
In their innocence the children rush to embrace him
Joyfully oblivious of his cruel intentions
And under the cover of darkness he slips away with a naïve child
The roasted liver melts in his mouth like fat in a hot cooking ***
He savors every morsel of it, indulging himself slowly
So that his immersion in this little paradise might last a little longer
No thought comes to mind of the little girls terrified whimpers
As he slit her throat and bled her before extracting her tasty liver
Only the splendid musky sweetness of it now has him in an indulgent daze
Now that he has found the desire of his flesh that eluded him for so long
Weeping and keening will echo through the village and those beyond
Women will wane and sing of loss and sorrow
Old men will dull with woe as the laughter of naïve children slowly ceases
Young men will search far & wide in futility for the monster amongst them
Yet they will not find it
And until his fall the land remains afflicted by the wake of his craving
