The Singing Falcon (Hybridanelle) Poem by Gert Strydom

I heard the falcon’s cry,
a myth of native lore
from high up in the sky

like a golden-hot ray
it came from the sun
at the break of day

sublime the notes came as I
walked the veldt, with beauty at the core.
I heard the falcon’s cry;

it was very high and far away
only a speck in the solar gradient,
it came from the sun.

I could not see it with my eye
it turned on upper winds to explore
from high up in the sky

it was triumphant, glowing radiant,
pure as light turned to sound
only a speck in the solar gradient,

the air was azure and the day was dry
and I was on the track of a lone lion before
I heard the falcon’s cry

and great beauty that I found
as if hearing a flying trumpet sing
pure as light turned to sound

I saw the soaring predator fly
with claws and beak ready to gore
from high up in the sky

and it made my ears ring,
inside its resonance
as if hearing a flying trumpet sing

a thing no money could buy
or imitate in a musical score.
I heard the falcon’s cry
from high up in the sky

pristine without dissonance
like a golden-hot ray
inside its resonance
at the break of day.


[References: The Singing Hawk by Roy Campbell. With great thanks to Ronald Peat for his help.]