Posted in 1st poem

The Scavenger

On a field dung hill,a vulture skated

With joy as of the morning

Armed with its piercing beak ready to devour

It keeps telling itself,

Birds too must live

With the voice of a fiery muse

Looking beyond the ashes,it spots a half-rotten dog

She moves in measure like an elephant

With raised pride like a lion all around her skinned neck,

With sharpened talons,poised and pointed

Like corked pistols of commandos on red alert

And destruction spelt over its face,

She tears the tender meat apart

Like divided friends

Relaxation sweeps over its body

And it devours the flesh in a pattern similar to that of a dancing choir

Suddenly,it whips its wings and is seen soaring through the skies

It perches on a Nim tree and eyes an approaching hyena

It expresses a worry that people show when they part with a dear one

It cleans its beak,hoping for a tastier meal during the day

It sighs;all too soon my time is up.

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Author:

A mathematician, poet and avid reader. Also simple, gregarious and mysterious...

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