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Osman Gani

Rookie (30/06/1989 / Khulna)

The Primordials


As the evening sun dipped in the blood-red horizon,
A gust of Silence came, whispered and then hushed
The warm air that was hastily passing the dungeon
Of thick scrub where the quivering grasses blushed.

The last flickering of Sun vanished and it was time.
Darkened, It was time for hunting and to be hunted.
The primordial cycle of hunt began in a raw chime
Of survival for the fittest. All hunt now enchanted.

Night here is so horrifying, even the Breeze dares
To sound its airy hum. Predators roam everywhere.
From the high branches, dark caves, dark soil-crater
And thick bushes, the primordial Eye of Death stares.

The Primordial creatures trample, fly, glide, clutch
With their teeth, claws, peaks soaked in the blood.
Creatures perish, new creatures emerge here in such
A world of Hunters, Hunted. All wander like cloud.

Submitted: Sunday, October 09, 2011

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  • Rookie Osman Gani (10/10/2011 11:01:00 PM)

    Really overwhelmed by your wonderful comment and appreciation. Thanks from heart. I am glad that the poem pleased you. Thanks again. :) (Report) Reply

  • Freshman - 1,427 Points Luis Estable (10/9/2011 9:33:00 AM)

    Good descriptions of nature and animals this has, and the title is very suitable to this, for the part you talk of here has been with us since the start of man

    I think and believe that your diciton is good and tells a different kind of poet; one that tries or want to be his or her own even if she or he is not att aware of it.

    I have fun going through this and have given it my few and humble words.

    keep it up now! (Report) Reply

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