Gentle breezes rustle the grassy plain
Antelope herds graze lazily
Under the setting sun
A flock of birds pass calling softly
Through the reddening sky
In the distance... hidden
A head slowly rises
Her nose sniffs the odorous breeze
She creeps slowly forward on her belly
Silent... stealthy... deadly
A young antelope startles
Lifts his head, listens
She pauses, quivering
In restive anticipation
Of an encounter yet unknown
He steps quietly through verdant grasses
Turning, looking, sensing
Of a faint, intangible danger
His eye catches a flicker, movement
He stops and their eyes meet
A moment passes
Two foes locked by sight
He jumps uttering a warning sound
As the herd scatters in the fading light
As she rises to give chase
He jumps and runs, trying to flee
From the nightmare, the terror
From death
The sense of desperation hangs in the air
He turns, stumbles and crashes down
As claws find tender flesh
He feels her breath, her teeth,
As they tighten and all goes silent
She pants breathlessly, head bowed
In silent homage
She makes a quiet calling sound
As from the underbrush three kits emerge
Tumbling, struggling to reach the life giving meal
Watching as they eat
Nourishment long denied
For another day they will not starve
Her eyes glisten
She raises her head and draws a deep breath
As the lioness, the mother
Roars towards the setting sun
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem