Cautiously walking over a carpet of leaves
scanning the horizon hiding behind trees
hearing their cries as the trumpet sounds
seeing the whites of their eyes
from my den in the ground,

Crouching in bushes a thorn pierces my skin
I must make no sound
I scream from within
my legs are weary my mouth is dry
my adrenaline is flowing
as they pass me by,

I may be safe now but they will come again
sniffing and searching just like when
they hunted my parents and hacked them down
savaged their bodies their blood was all around,

I looked on in silence
watching the violent scene
then closed my eyes tightly
hoping it was all a dream
to you the truth I tell however bad it seems
the hunted will be hunted
unless they’re never seen.


John Mcleod