THE HUNTER TURNED GAME

The great hunter goes to the forest

Where the many live game rest

At the brink of dawn

As always, this time, the game is on

But no, the only game sleeping comfortably today

Is the “santrofie anoma”

He searches and searches and searches

But nothing is seen, nothing is heard except the “santrofie” bird

Should he kill it and take a curse home

Or leave it to let the sumptuous fatty meat go?

He thinks of the many mouths with huge stomachs to fill

He thinks of the eyes of his wife seeing an empty hand

He thinks of the sneers of neighbours

And thoughts of incompetency walking in the minds of others

And like an old impatient dog,

Looks at the “santrofie anoma”

He aims to shoot and drag the last animal home

After all, he has the gun.

Just when he lifts the gun

Many eyes are seen

Eyes which develop heads with every proper look

Heads which develop bodies with every proper look

Bodies which develop hatred with every proper look

It then comes back to him; the voice of his father;

A hunter hunts with good judgement

A hunter earns his keep rightly

A good hunter does not kill what it has no need for

And a good hunter understands time”

Just when he feels sorry, he feels a pain here

He feels a pain there

And so it is that the hunter became the game.

By amoafowaa