I ventured onto a path long abandoned,
leaving long straight ways, the shade
of planted trees and paved roads,
tracked through a tangle of twigs and
hanging branches that scratch and tear
and prod, ripping open sleeves,
drawing blood, going for my eyes.
Spider web wrap around my face --
I fear the spiders getting into my hair,
the bodies of those they drained
of blood and life cling onto my clothes.
DO NOT ENTER.
On the jungle floor, centipedes crawl, ants ride on millipedes,
leeches lurk and lunge for warm blood, blue-green feathered
fowl sweeps the ground for snails; on ends of leaf tips, wasps
seal combs of their hexagonal homes, swarms of gnats abuzz
around a family of mud-caked hogs, noses to ground, feeding.
DO NOT DISTURB.
An alien with size 6 rubber shoes, rudely
bright colored backpack and tools, intrudes --
scattering insects, overturning rocks,
snapping branches, unsettling pools....
The jungle fowl fled deeper into the thick of leaves; angry
vibrations of rapid beating wings, needles dagger-mark
my exposed neck; above, monkeys whooped in alarm,
below, twines and roots attempt to trip. I feel a burning
sting of a wasp on my wrist. A mango falls, splits at my feet.
I cover my ears, hold my breath,
break for the edge, back to the road,
back into exile.
Pathless native tropical jungles and wetlands are not always welcoming to visitors, in some cases, it can feel downright hostile. It takes preparation, care and respect to trek through a jungle or explore a swamp without too much disruption to the residents or frustration to self.
Posted at dVerse Open Link Night #25. Please join us for some great poetry and share your own!