The moon and stars, they stared, from the blue black, blanket pinned across the sky.
I stumbled against the rock strewn landscape, while Khoi ancestors sang their shaman songs into the wind.
Lonely and lost you looked for me – I am not there.
My sons and daughters dance, their dizzy song, on my dusty face like ants.
I cry dry tears, of dust, for their little dry bodies, beating – out the rhythm of their spent lives.
You! Chant deep into the night, exhausted, to wait a new day – hoping to see my signs, if you have been there.
The Lion and the leopard, I sent to steal your souls, they swallowed you as you danced into the sky.
Still you did not, find me there.
Little children of this sand, wandering against the African midnight sky, take my soul, to meet the Lion, maybe then to know – If you are not there.
Little children of this sand, wandering against the African midnight sky, take my soul, to meet this Lion – maybe then to know, if you are not there?
Children of Africa hear your song, on the distant growling of the wind.
The Lion’s hot breath blew against my face, from between sharp, white, teeth like clouds. The blood red mouth, open, while the beast in purposeful travel moved.
The sun above the horizon stood – a new awakening to find me not there.
I looked for you, by the light of the worshiped moon.
I know that somewhere you are there, African sky, my sad and melancholy friend – Did you, so old know more than me?
Oh! faithful cosmic vision, where you there?
At the beginning, did you see him then?
Do you know more about the end?
I walked home in the cold light of an African day.