As the evening sun dipped in the blood-red horizon, <br />A gust of Silence came, whispered and then hushed <br />The warm air that was hastily passing the dungeon <br />Of thick scrub where the quivering grasses blushed. <br /> <br />The last flickering of Sun vanished and it was time. <br />Darkened, It was time for hunting and to be hunted. <br />The primordial cycle of hunt began in a raw chime <br />Of survival for the fittest. All hunt now enchanted. <br /> <br />Night here is so horrifying, even the Breeze dares <br />To sound its airy hum. Predators roam everywhere. <br />From the high branches, dark caves, dark soil-crater <br />And thick bushes, the primordial Eye of Death stares. <br /> <br />The Primordial creatures trample, fly, glide, clutch <br />With their teeth, claws, peaks soaked in the blood. <br />Creatures perish, new creatures emerge here in such <br />A world of Hunters, Hunted. All wander like cloud.<br /><br />Osman Gani<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-primordials/
