Mosi-oa-Tunya - by
The last place for a waterfall, no mountains or valleys,
/ horizons flat as summer seas, then from thirty miles,
/ a white tower…
The last place for a waterfall, no mountains or valleys,
/ horizons flat as summer seas, then from thirty miles,
/ a white tower…
So hushed, so hot, the broad Zambesi lies
/ Above the Falls, and on her weedy isles
/ Swing antic monkeys swarm malignant…
Such words can sound like flagged-up slogans, true. / What we merely say says nothing — / All that matters…
I am waiting for you.
/ I have been travelling all morning through the bush
/ and not eaten.
/ I am lying at the edge…