It was much before I found you out by the sniff of
your hair. During those days, I had many things to do,
as I had time to while away doing ordinary things
that everyone did in life. Except, unlike others, I
also moved on the street and followed the blood spoor
left by your act of living and loving. Those days,
as you were planting your roots and creating shades
for your summer days, I was crossing the river Mara with
the Wildebeests, migrating from Serengeti to Masai
Mara, in search of water and a temporary shelter.
It was by natural coincidence that I did not get devoured
by the ghastly crocodiles who waited hungrily in the
flowing deaths of Mara, and in the other hemisphere,
you evaded insanity to remain sane in a world of mad rush.
In the years that followed, I survived several deaths
and you, in pursuit of life, grew into a strong
Baobab, far away from where it belonged, on the
banks of the river Mara where I lived.
All migrations thus, through the history of time,
have fall outs in the form of victims of survival.
While some grow into a large shade over the
others, some others, find it essential to cross the
Mara a number of times, as dodging deaths in every
foot step becomes an addiction of life for them,
as they keep looking for that nonexistent Baobab,
either here, or in the land of the Masai, among
a few millions of Wildebeests.
