In the mouth of the wide savannah <br />The air of the hot midday <br />Casts on us a veil of stillness <br />Undisturbed by the remotest breeze <br /> <br />Time hovers almost motionless <br />As weaver birds build their family nests <br />Their busy conversations all at one <br />With the crickets and crackling leaves <br /> <br />The high sky is a backcloth <br />To the baobab tree outlined on the horizon <br />The acacias adorned with thorns <br />And the numberless red ants under our feet <br /> <br />The trails we examine have no direction <br />No men have passed here in this century <br />Any danger is fast of foot <br />And unconcerned with our reverie <br /> <br />Wordless with each other, our eyes scan the horizon <br />And gaze upon the vastness of the bush lands <br />Our hands, our fingers barely touch <br />As we stand unthinking, veiled by the stillness. <br /> <br />In the hour of siesta falling <br />The bush surrounds our common dreams.<br /><br />Frank Bana<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dreams-in-africa/
