Sun on the Serengeti
A beam of sunlight
Shines parallel to a rock
Feeding the circle of plants
Hiding
Beneath the rocks.
A gazelle glides
Like it is on wings
And seems to be talking
About its experiences
with its baby.
A zebra does some gardening.
And gazes feverishly,
With an enquiring eye
At a bunch of tourists
Peeping out of binoculars.
A good old lion sleeps.
Sleeps peacefully.
Under the shade of the acacia.
With only two flies to bother him.
And not a single worry in the world.
Good old Maasai men,
Tending their cattle
With never-ending stamina
In eternal dance, stop.
They are selling souvenirs.
The long march of the Serengeti
resumes.
And thunder rumbles.
And banners of dust
Flow away effortlessly.
The old story repeats.
A story as old
as good old
Africa itself.
About This Poem
This poem captures a moment in Tanzania's Serengeti National Park, painting a scene where wildlife, indigenous people, and modern tourism intersect. Written after visiting one of Africa's most iconic landscapes, it observes how different inhabitants of the Serengeti occupy the same space—the gazelle communicating with its young, the zebra curious about human observers, the lion unburdened by human concerns. The Maasai men, traditionally nomadic pastoralists, now bridge two worlds as they pause their "eternal dance" to engage with tourism. The poem's final stanza zooms out to the cosmic scale, reminding us that the annual wildebeest migration—"the long march"—is just one repetition of cycles that have played out since ancient times, as old as "Africa itself." The dust banners and thunder suggest both the power and transience of any single moment against geological time.