On a bright sunny day, amidst the African brush-
Playing in the sand, two tiny lion cubs.
Filled with potential, though they be yet small,
Furry balls of terror unaware of the dangers about them all.
They play, in their little sand pit, preparing for what is ahead.
Unaware of it, yet preparing for it.
But lo, as they play, come clouds, a storm is gathering.
As now they cower, suddenly aware that safety is faltering.
The glowing eyes of hideous predators lurk in the dark,
They loom up, watching and waiting, for the moment to strike.
The cubs cower up against the sand, no use to run.
They cringe as darkness veils the sun.
Jaws snap at them, fangs bare. Snarls penetrate their ears.
They wince as their antagonists stand above them, their greatest fear.
No screaming, no yelling. Just a quiet call, so quiet, that you’d barely hear it at all.
Facing their imminent fate, with nothing more than a faint SOS call.
They whimper as the teeth nip their hinds, as their enemies pin them down.
Horror encapsulates them. No way out can be found.
The killer blow comes rushing in – they close their eyes
But something lights up their world – a dazzling white light
For a split second, the world is frozen in eternity
Then all the creatures stop dead in their tracks and look earnestly.
For from behind a near push, comes a terrible roar and before it flees the night,
No longer unseen, rises a champion, like one never seen.
His mane flows down his neck, thick and heavy, none there is like him.
Muscles bulge through his skin, a battletank prowling the wilderness.
Though not the biggest or best, he is the boldest and completely fearless.
His coat, though thick and fine, bears the marks of many scars.
Battles won and lost, some where he almost died – a lion of many scars.
He lets loose yet another bone-chilling roar – his huge canines glisten in the sun-
The enemies turn tail and flee, one by one.
The ground quakes with the sound of his voice – turning their insides to water
To the north, east, south, and west, both the weak and the strong scatter.
From his nostrils come vapours of the tempest inside.
Who will, the king of the jungle defy?
None, none will defy. None have the fire to match this kind of power.
For this lion has an unstoppable strength once he is set on fire.
The clouds roll back; the young lions lift their heads- fear dispersed.
To get to them, their enemies will have to go through the roaring lion first.
Story behind the poem:
I don’t know how well I described it, but I sort of wanted to picture two defenceless cubs, threatened by an imminent danger, and then right when all seemed lost, a huge lion, so big and so dreadful that none would dare cross it appears and saves the day. 😀
As for the real-life interpretation, I’ll leave that to you to ponder on. 😀
photo by Kevin McGee