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The cap of the hills bow
To the majesty of the winds;
Inside caves the drops of mercury
Trickle, tap tap tap
Treacherous slopes invite him
To the voices of men long dead
Echoes, false voices, real voices
He listens but discerns not
On the rocks are graffiti
Of displeased countenances
Scowl here, smirk there
But his eyes are blind
To his death, the false voices call him
Trotting long distances
Among the lush vegetation
He walks unaware
Of the tolling bell
Not even the dirges of the birds
He should have seen it coming
The premonition
As the beckoning stems of miraa
Invited, the whiff of death
Caught his nostrils
But he smelt of the fragrance
Of fresh leaves of khat
As the fumes rose to his bronchus
It was late
As he plunged, head-first
Onto the jagged edges of kadam rocks
Death is like a song
It can soothe but can sting
For a prompt of Carry on Tuesday
To use the words below in a poem
“He should have seen it coming” The opening words of Howard Jacobson’s novel ‘The Finkler Question’.
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2 comments:
Bone chilling poem. The way you describe the surrounding and the voices and correlate it with what is going to happen builds up a forbidding aura, like something bad is going to happen. As it often happens, people are blind to little omens around them. That is human nature. But this is a very masterful poem, a great read. It's just that i read it late at night. I hope i'll not get nightmares!
Thanks for reading. I won't take any responsibility for any nightmares, real or imagined, self-inflicted or not, as a result of you reading the poem. Ha ha.
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Echoes of the Hills is all about you. I would love to hear your echo...