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Wildlife
"As a six year old I would beg my mum to ask me questions about wild animals. I memorised books and stared for hours at photographs. I must have driven her mad. It was no surprise to her that 20 years later her son had moved to Africa and followed his heart." - Adrian Steirn
 
 
Read the Photo Essay
 
 
Africa
 
 
THIS WILD AFRIQUE

It’s here I sit, this wild afrique
her bounty is her curse.
The taste, the smell, her wildness,
Her hunger and her thirst.

This last frontier of wild things,

is where it all began.
Where man has broken all the rules
yet tree and beast still stand.

This great blue sky dwarfs elephants,

bathes giraffe in pinkish glow.
Looks over tanned and dappled cats,
great herds of buffalo.

A leadwood stands forever more,

A river flows in wet.
The koran pops his lonely call
to a mate he hasn’t met.

Why now do we only read the script,

how much they mean to us?
how much they give with every turn
how we betrayed their trust.

Ours is but a tiny spot

yet take more than we give.
And now the piper takes his share,
a selfish way to live.

The wild dog are on the run,

the sun is drawing down.
buffalo shadows are growing long
with precious water found.

The zebra’s in a swirl of dust,

and we must but stop to stare.
to them a moment like a breath,
to us a glimpse so rare.

The leopard rests in fig tree bed,

a lion wakes the night.
That owl is perched on knotted stump
and camouflaged from sight.

THIS WILD AFRIQUE

?They stay alive and life goes on,
the circle never ends.
theirs is not to ask or want
but ours to make amends.

?To watch them now and hold that gift.

To understand our wrong.
To treat their lives as we treat ours
it’s like that ancient song.

As Mzilikazi stated then

it rings in our ears today.
as we do to them we do to us,
for every debt is paid.

Stripes and spots in evening light?

the scented air is warm.

An old bull’s mighty tusks sit proud
framed by a midday storm.

A kudu thoughtful in repose,
a young cub’s hard at play.


a river horse in aqua,
a breeding pair’s display

I have seen the wild things,
so I count a lucky man.
I’ve heard them roar and dance and sing
like an untamed marching band.

Their song is theirs and theirs alone
They have no choice but sing.
Sing where the moment takes them
and what that moment brings.

And as that wild tune fills my head,
soft whisper leaves me hollow.
Will this song be playing here
for our children of tomorrow??

End