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by Sharmagne Leland-St. John

All I ever knew was Africa.
Savanna and steppe
straddling the equator.
Roaming distant expanses of veldt
and escarpment.
The click speakers of the east.

Heavy and persistent rains
juxtaposed with
dry spells.
The drought of the Sahel
and its murderous famine.
Hot winds stirring
grass and earth,
red dust rising
beneath a relentless
lemon sun.

Mists cloud moon.
Pinpricks of starlight
Peek through a canopy of trees
A limpid land
rich with night sounds
perfumed scents lingering

Warp and weave
of a new kikoy or kanga.
The coolness
of Kakamba beads
on sunburnt skin

The tremble of hooves
on the run.
Skies cracked open
by the thunder
of a poachers gun
followed by an explosion
of black-winged birds
filling a vast summer sky.

And death close by

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