The hour a runaway bullet fells the might
Oh to the eye, what a deplorable, grotesque sight
The creature that leaves large footsteps behind
And demands respect, from the crucible of mankind
A troupe walks from water holes in the dry zone
From the awakening at dawn, a journey all alone
The water splashes, the protracted trunk cavorts,
Always vigilant, like sentinels outside forts.
The gentle giant that trumpets its booming call
Like the trombones that cry aloud, while they gently crawl,
The ears flap, the ivory dazzling in the morning sun,
Threatening one day there will be none
Through conservation corridors they casually stroll,
Inventory of their kind, battling a bullet’s parole.
Dilantha Gunawardana is a molecular biologist, a wordsmith, papadum thief, “Best Laksa” seeker, poet of accident and fluke, hoop-addict, a late bloomer on all fronts, ex-quiz-druggy and humour-artist, who is still learning the craft of poetry. His poems are published in Ravens Perch, Heart Wood Literary Magazine, Canary Literary Magazine, and many others.
