The Veldt Poem by John Bliven Morin

67131The Day

The heat is oppressing, coming in waves,
and with it, the dust which blows as hot
as the summer wind which carries it.
A herd of zebra crowd around a lone
acacia tree, seeking refuge from the
heat, unaware that above them, in the
branches, a leopard too enjoys the shade.
A shallow stream, a river in the spring,
is claimed by the elephants, keeping
all others at bay. Gazelles and a lone jackal
look on with envy as the great beasts
play and splash and trumpet their joy.
A pair of cheetahs have run down a young
wildebeest and now feast on it in the bush,
while keen-sighted vultures circle high
above, waiting for their chance at the kill.
A lion pride lies quietly in the underbrush,
too hot for the chase or even to challenge
the panting cheetahs for their sanguine prize.
At last there is a subtle change in the air.
Even the high-stepping ostriches feel it,
foretelling of the evening and the night,
when the earth cools beneath them all.

The Night

The darkness spreads across the veldt
gradually dispelling the heat of the day.
High above, the blue sky is transformed
into a wide roof of stars. The leopard has
come down from the safety of her tree,
hungry and eager for the kill. Now the
barking staccato of hyenas signal their
arrival, threatening even the night-hunting
lions. In darkness the veldt mirrors the sky,
a myriad of eyes reflected in the moonlight.
The night is filled with sounds of dying and
surviving. The old and the weak perish so
the strong can live another day, until one
day age or illness make them prey as well.
While the night reigns, men sleep and only
whisper in the dark. They know darkness
is for the animals they challenge by day.

The Morning

At last faint light silhouettes the horizon,
growing in intensity as the dawn creeps
across the veldt and at last men emerge
from the safety of their huts, coming out
to relieve themselves, then gather at the
shallow stream to bathe and collect water
for cooking. The women sing a work-song
as they pound, pound their millet for meals.
The men gather together for the day's hunt,
sharpening their spears on grindstones, and
they, too, sing a song of promised victory
in their hunt. The village dogs bark as the
men depart, jogging along an ancient trail
in search of food. Before them, the wide
savannah stretches far away toward the
rising sun, and all the veldt awakes.