Who am I ?
Someone standing
On the shore
Or some one
Who sailed across
The seven seas.

I am the toiler of sea
A seeder of the earth
An emblem in nectar
For the humming bees
A creator in deeds
For impassioned ends
In tune with liberators.

My bones return to earth
And roads flash under pines
Trusting the high clouds
Carried in palpitation
By the stilted winds.

Sceptred in sunlight
For the heart’s reason
In greet for the advent
Of some warm season.

__________________

HILLS OF TORA.

Of faery maidens
Clad in green
Raven of hair
Bronzer of skins.

Perfumers of breaths
Hasters in the gaits
Charmers of steeds
Raiders in the grace.

On ancient hills of Tora
There is enchanted land
Cast under the spell of beauty
Magical rite in breezed embalmed.

Disturbing not the keepers of stones
Piled up high under the ancient holds
Venomous incantations of darker kind
Controllers in dimness, shaders of ash
Liberators of channelled spirit in clash.

Tempters in atmospheric disturbances
Flayed up crops of certain resistance
Deeds of hand for sole consummations
In constellations of incessant aspirations.

_________________________

HOWLING WINDS.

Along shores and the rolling hills
Circles of lightnings keep their vigil
Thunder dressed in curtains of rain
Lashed by the giant Luma the great.

Red shades of the blood wood tree
Colouring the waters of twilight pools
In dreamtime where battles commence
Between the turtle and the sea sprite
Black bird mistletoed in land of bush
Where bora the hawk comes to rescue.

There the spiders in their noontide
Of dilly bags protected by crocodiles
Engaging in war with the malunga trees
Aided by snakes of red smeared manes
In conjunctions with powers of shaman.

Stealing reflections of the stars
In the constellation of the Aquela
Blackened by barigu and mimi spirits
Where ginga the python raises its tail
And touches the skies in powered gait.

Do not go out
It is the season of howling winds.

___________________

YELLOW RIVER.

At the bottom of the sea
Some pearls in the transit
The fishers carrying their tools
In veins of the bluish waters.

All night along
Lightning taking its turn
Bandit of luminous sleeves
Stealing some nitid nocturnes.

The moth on the table
The candle in the flame
The horse on the river
The grouse across the lane.

The yellow river flows
Among the greener stills
Stretching its limpid arms
Embracing the distant hills.