a song for Africa

an elegy swifts the mountain tops it hovers between time and space then whisks away with the memories of a thousand years an elegy strides the mountain tops dusks the valleys and the plains, the riverbed too, where dragons sleep through eons, in their bliss bemime a flame birth in his native soul a wry flame that ever the landscape’s night delay and silently the sacred land to lifeless, bloodless dust decay the twilight skirts the cliffs and hills, that frame the sky’s endless effigy, while the flame’s flicking fangs devours the frisky, falling tears and then at brisk of dawn, when time its natal hands, outstretched, fold over wasted land’s infirmity… it witnesses its sovereign infinity