Evening Saudade
Who am I to defy that which is conceived from odds—
claim to own the things that I possess, and the land on which I reside?
Act hostile towards a subject of odds that grazes by my fence-line?
How just is it of me—to act on instinct,
scare away every bird rests on the ‘drying lines’,
or the ape that unbeknownst to all, migrates to town,
treading electric lines, in search of shelter,
as the town expands, and the forest is compromised?
The bird might just fly away—the ape must possess a strong will,
to not even flinch when a pebble is tossed its way.
Will then a human-made contraption aid my instinct to fend-off the facade
that I must live in—
when the idle-minute is scarce, and thinking becomes a disease of sorts?
When I must live as a primate that’s evolved to latch onto any stimuli
in hopes of temporarily calming my mind.
It feels odd to see this ape embrace the silence that would drown my-evolved self.
It barely moves once it’s put against the ground, putting the eyes to work.
It rejoices to see me grounded in my house in its presence—
I can only imagine what must go in his mind.
“Some evolved one he is, building houses that touch the sky,
getting the Sun on his side, lighting the sky at night.
He expands to claim over our forest—
this migrant that arose from our very own tribe!
Look at him as he hides in his shelter!
Only to gaze out, unto myself laying in poor-dirt in front of his house, in pride.”
I went in the attic in-search of my childhood sling.
I’d ruminated enough about the animal that can barely resemble my shape,
and the way that I walk.
“No matter, it still has to scream! Can’t talk!”
I was winning in a facade instead of the actual war.
Once I’d fetched the sling and its darts, I rushed back to the window,
on the hubris of a faux-victory, I set aside the blinds, and the netted window—
I pulled the decade-old sling with a dart in—aimed at the ape,
“He definitely doesn’t realise the stitch he’s in.”
I closed one eye shut, and aimed with my thumb, as I did when I was a kid.
I’d come a long way since then, “When was it,
that I accustomed myself to this way of life?” I wondered. The ape unaware.
I shrugged the thought aside, and with a final calming breath—
The shot was fired. There was no sound; the barrell,
and the gun, were made in the woods, with a fallen-branch; found by an indocile member of the fargone tribe.
The dart landed a few feet away from the ape, I had long-lost the marksman within.
The ape at last, flinched; looked at me bewildered,
charged up to the window a few steps, then walked over to the dart.
It chewed on it while walking away from my house.
I leaned out of my window, and saw the dart in my lawn,
broken into pieces.
I wiped years of dust build up, and sat by the window that evening.