Each movement brisk, each look guarded,
Slow and steady, it trudges through.
The eye is swift, the paws are ready,
The night is dark, the sky a scary blue…
A slight rustle of the leaves of the bush
A predator on its usual prowl,
But tonight is going to be different,
The weakling springs to action, and growls.
‘My prey, what cheek? Who dared to dare?
Thou art to die, thy end is near!’
The weakling maintains a profound silence,
No silly movement, it wants to steer.
The predator looks around,
Terror strikes his killer eyes.
As the weakling pounces and dives,
The trees tremble, thunder the skies!
‘Thou kill me tonight, my prey,
Thou art the King, Thou win…’
The predator breathes its last,
Defeated by its weakest twin.
The twin breathes heavy,
It trembles with dread and fear,
Victory it has finally achieved,
It rules the jungle, the mice, the deer…
It raises it head towards the sky,
The moon, the stars, all in reverence seem to bend,
It smiles, wryly, and then weeps,
And mourns at its sibling’s sad end…