If I had to struggle
To remind you that
I was there
Then there was no reason
for me
To exist for you.
Thus,
The Savannah called me.
I am now there
Where they prey
Without pretending love,
Where I know much before
Who is a killer
and how far
Is my safe territory.
Those days,
I had to wait long
And go away without love
And there was no reason
To check if the
Gul Mohur was on fire,
There was no reason to
Try to listen to the whispers
of footsteps on the dried
Leaves in my driveway.
The Savannah is already dry
And I can put fire to it
In my moments of ecstacy.
And footsteps?
They are feared here
As they bring death
And that too, not in whispers,
But in stormy air, breathing blood!
For a lion,
The confined streets of
Manhattan is not it's
Territory.
The vast grassland of the
Savannah is it's home!
Where it kills and rules
And dies creating history!
