On A Spoor Poem by Gert Strydom

We were hot on a fresh spoor
and the bushman tracker said
that the enemy were not far ahead

when we crossed through some dense bush
under some trees
and looking up I saw something on a branch

camouflaged, dappled into the shade
and yellow eyes peered down at me
filled with rage, with energy

and astounded more than anything
I brought the gun to bear,
but the pent up energy,

melted with languid grace
right into the tree
as if it wasn’t aware of me, aware of us

and we walked on past a clearing
into the open veldt where hip high grass
was interrupted by some green thorn bushes.

A huge male lion came bursting
out of one of the bushes
with swishing tale running at full speed

and we all froze in our strides with weapons ready
and it was almost
as if the light machinegun’s trigger was tempting me
to shoot the raging storming animal down

and at that moment I was relieved
that it was not the leopard that would jump,
from one of us after another at sheer speed

and at quick succession try to kill us all
being a expert at baboon hunting
and thus at killing primates

but the tracker had signalled for all of us
to wait when he saw it
and that party of special force soldiers

was ready to kill when that lion
came to a halt with swishing tail right in front of me
and I can still smell its foul breath

when it roared with wide-open jaws
and terror hit my stomach like a mighty fist
and I could have cut it down

blasting it right from the ground
but the ferocity, the beauty of that beast
halted me as if I was watching it in a dream

and I watched its yellow fangs and pink tongue
totally motionless trying to stare it down
and suddenly it turned around

walking back into the veldt
timid and kitten-eyed
disappearing into the grass, melting into it