Dust to Dust

Engorged with latent heated air
in moody peace the Valley sleeps
lies heavy as Zambezi sun
toward its fiery zenith creeps
A silver ribboned river glides
from hazy blue, escarpment hides.

Beneath relentless glare above
in youthful play, audacious breeze
toys brief with sun-washed yellow grass
and taunts the bush, it's dry black trees
‘till chastised into deference
it scuttles off with lost pretense.

Primordial silence, savage beat
somnolent waves of mirage shine
to march and throb through haze and heat
in molten ripples re-combine
and trembling images evolve,
live but a moment then dissolve.

From ruddy dust of old campaigns
soft undulating whispers rise
they cry “Bayete” on the plains
these warriors in spirit guise
that echo grey off granite hill
where chanting, dancing shadows kill.

With drumming spear on rawhide shield
war painted impis  march again
the savage ghosts refuse to yield
a cruel primordial soul of flame
Ancestral spirits born of lust
in Africa, it's dust to dust.
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