“Under the Boabab Tree” by artist, Carol Howard, Photography
All are in repose.
as a reddening sun sinks
melodiously drowning
into a molten horizon.
My heart gasps in harmony,
“Take me with you”
before our time is gone,
I’ve not the strength to wait till dawn
Long and low shadows of the baobab
yawn and crawl toward the east
millenniums older than the father of Qasim,
tells us, “I have seen some things;
I have felt the slow passing
of many a wanderer
lean upon me wearily. ”
Upended leviathans
with their dendritic branches
high in the Saharan azure
barreled trunks plunging down and down
into the red soil of an aging earth
Swollen bellied lions groan
and roll over in a heap
exhaling the scent of steaming meat,
sweeter to them than the baobab fruit,
that swings on vines from lofty roots
Whiskers red and stained by blood
are tended by busying flies
Claws retracted and kneading through dreams
of lions leading the pride
Sated and in repose I watch
the blood still busy in my belly;
dreams come without words
sans ardent meanings
to fill the souls of predator beings
with a tranquil heart and absent mind
free to drum with Jilbran and Bayazid
to free the pulp of the soul from the rind.
