Mantelope's Hymn Of Melancholy. Poem by Ofentse Mercy Hajane

We have for eons graceful strid across this savannah.
Bemused by it's sea of ever-golden grass.
Lost under the twin suns of an alien planet.
Wondering when will the day our misery be put to an end.
Our fathers as had their forefathers, sing of a bygone era when we strid not, but rode ancient machines of wonder.
They tell a story of a time when we regressed not but progressed forward.
Then it seemed as though we were gods riding the black sea of the night.
Our eyes were set on taming worlds and stars thereof.
The great nothing was but our canvas, waiting for us to paint across it with magic.
Our fathers also sing of the chaos that followed those golden years.
When we met the demons lurking in the great beyond.
We stood afoot, wavering not. And yet victory was not ours.
Then these creatures of unknown origin, waging godly might, far surpassing any we have seen before,
Tore opened our skin and mend it to their liking.
They reduced our greatness to nothing but decorations roaming a backwater world.
Unable to march out of our misery, slowly loosing our sanity.
Today in the searing heat of the suns above, mother gave birth to a younging.
As soon as it fell from her womb, it yelped and she helped it stand.
The elders were round about it in anticipation.
He came up, jumped once, twice. Then stood looking into the horizon.
For a moment fear washed upon my fathers face
My mother whispered in despair, 'Oh no is he conscious'.
As all waited, the younging bleated and its head fell to graze upon the golden grass.
Unaware of his surrounding,
Unconscious of choice about right or wrong.
Joy washed upon us all for one to lead us to unto the Unconscious unseeming has been born.
At last shall the great plain become silent, never agian to hear another Mantelope's hymn of melancholy.