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Ecocide II. Lost Madagascan Solitude

Sloping crystalline falling away skies
nudge a luxuriant forested isle - wide-eyed tree-skipping lemur-strewn
 -
obediently it slides eastward, ever further distant
from anchoring shores.

A boat-less earth.
Hunched up blood-licking apes locked into fruit-held rift valleys.
Sharpening their flints.

The sautéing sifaka, jitters, nervy, princely pirouettes.
Esoteric treasure trove, trust-bound,
assembled exotica anciently unfolds.

In solitude, a jolly party contained together in pacific balance:
reptilian bug-eyed chameleons sure and slow-footed,
shy slinking Fossa, a lone long-fingered aye-aye absentmindedly
tapping out dangerous omens in primeval morse code.

Waves crash, anguished howls -
one rogue boatful with hungry bellies and hatchets.
Chameleons adjust multi-coloured jackets
- to hide away fast.

The island’s grizzled chains slip their moorings
grind down Noah’s Ark of charms.
Axes sear, slice, ricochet
Malagasy’s pristine wonders slump - wounded, bloodied, defiled.

The world’s fourth largest isle, 
once tree carpeted now down to rubbed raw floor boards.

Mark Ereira
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