The Safari

The golden dust, the scent of coming rain, The rising sun on the vast and open plain. A canvas painted in ochre, green, and gold, A story ancient, and so bravely told. The engine hums, a low and patient sound, As the jeep goes searching for hallowed ground. A silhouette of giraffes, tall and serene, A living image on a wild and endless scene The mighty lions, a sun-soaked tawny pride, Hidden in the grasses where their instincts guide. A leopard's shadow, elusive and so rare, Sliding through the thicket with a quiet, watchful stare. The trumpeting echo of the elephant's call, As families wander, moving free and tall. A wildebeest stampede, a blur of motion swift, A thundering promise, a primal, moving gift. And when the twilight paints the sky anew, With fiery hues of crimson and deep blue, The campfire crackles, a low and steady glow, With jackals barking in the dark, and stars that grow. The stillness settles, vast, deep and wide, The wildness stirring, with nowhere left to hi...
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The Lost Child

 Your absence is the furniture,

placed just so in every room.

The silence wears my slippers,

and moves in a familiar gloom.

The air's edges are swept,

where a soft body used to be.

Dusting the unread books,

and watering plants that still see the mother.

The years will heal, people say,

that wounds will fade to scars.

But the hole left is growing,

a dark and hungry jar.

And every kind word feels like a stone

dropped in a well that has no end.

The surface is unreachable,

silence will not bend.

The child was the sun that warmed a face,

and now the mother lives beneath the shade.

And this deep and endless night of grief

is the home a heart has made.

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