Fabled, yet again


Ample of food and water –

One upon a time, I owned this turf you call the bush…

Folklore and mysteries of the earth –

deeply ingrained, never lost them’ stories.

All of them weeds, and stalks,

swamps and salt, was mine to take and taste.

I am Big Foot – around here, I hold my head high.

Them, my pair of glory, they gleam in the sun,

Never a burden; they’re my pride, my very life.

A colossal bulbous grey mass, those lil’ fellows scurry away –

They stand no match, I own them women.

She with a hole in the ear or her with a pretty lil’ swag,

They always linger, seeking my rich gene pool.

But when the deafening echo rang out,

nothing was ever the same again…

As fear clasped my tail rigid,

the beast crawled on all twos.

Them with loud spitting machines,

Them with pointed darts and napalms.

Them! They seek my pride.

Old journeys long forlorn and shun,

I seek new and unfriendly horizons –

where no swamp or belle receive me.

I use them mud to cover my pride,

A burden, I shield them weary load.

As I travel alone, and afar –

I smell them ubiquitously,

I, Big Foot, only pray for sheath,

But nothing will ever be the same again…

… nothing will ever be the same again.

 – A tribute to Satao. He was killed by poachers on May 30, 2014

(Pic credit: Mark Deeble)



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