Letter From A Flying Chicken Poem by Tumisang Ramarea

The beams of the sun touch my log like face
The warmth of her countenance, feeds my smile
Impossible as it is, I will run this dog like race
Until the bone is safely between these jaws of mine

I am like the Kilimanjaro, in the motherland
Admired only where my roots are anchored
But nonexistent where there is no dry sand
Yet, I shall run this race I entered

When I gained wings, I lost my beak
I fly but I miss out on the juicy caterpillars below
A flying chicken I am, reaching the top but feeling weak
There is less oxygen at the top than below

That countenance, if only it were for me
The wings will fall off, and I will feast
On the caterpillar that my eye always see
The caterpillar is a camouflaged beast

It is not within reach, neither am I in its sight
It sees only of its kind, maybe it is the order of life
Still it must be aware of my sweet bite
Patience is what I have for this, till the end of time.