Classic Poem

Akananuru 111

Not happy with what he has,
piqued by the arrowy words
of cynics, he went.

But he'll come back.
Patience, my girl.

He went
into the woods
on the Otai hills

where
like banners on a royal elephant
dry nemai trees carry spiderwebs
that shiver in the wind,
and jungle elephants
grow faint and lean
in the heat,
mistake the webs for clouds,
lift long trunks painfully,
breaths bellowing in chorus
like trumpets for ritual dancers.

where
the tenacious wolf
drags at the carcass of the wild pig
he has killed,

and vultures drink the ooze of blood,
their red ears
like night lanterns that keep watch
in a field of wounded warriors.
Over such a mountain peak,
dipping into the valley of skies,
he went.