Afro Blues ended with the assumed suicide of Floyd, the main protagonist, after his partner had been executed. Shahida, the sequel novel, which I never finished (maybe one day), revealed that Floyd had gone into the Ténéré desert, alone, with the intention of shooting himself but, instead, he just shot into the sand. This poem relates that long walk into loneliness and despair.
Two years before writing this poem I spent a wonderful fifteen day adventure in the Ténéré desert trekking with Tuareg of the Aire people, Afro Blues, written before that journey was, towards the end of the story, staged in the Ténéré although my knowledge of that region at the time was based on National Geographic searches.
Over the Hill
Over the hill
then on to home.
A long hard road is still to roam.
Up into the hard brown mountainsides;
my feet drag me along,
but the final valley
is getting close.
And so is the heat.
Slate crumbles and bruises my feet,
Rock fall insists on breaking my bones,
Yet still I struggle on,
Til the end of the road.
The scorpions are nearing,
The serpents lie in wait,
Yet I respect my adversary,
It is unavoidable.
And the long haul
Over the grey brown rocks
Is inevitable.
My time has come and I must choose this path.
Though marble crumbles below my feet,
And treacherous gravels
Make me slip,
I must stand my ground.
I must return to my home.
I must tread softly
over acacian thorns,
steal quietly,
pass the sidewinder’s tail.
Then I will make it down to the east…
Out, into the yellow ocean,
To ride the giant waves.
But I am no longer the young surfer,
In charge of his element.
No longer in command of the sea.
I must follow the surf where it takes me.
And,
Though I know where that shall be,
I give in.
I must make it home.
To that one place
Where heaven once met earth –
That’s my way out of hell.
My bones are aching,
And I am tired,
But I surge on,
Because the end of the road is not yet come.
But soon.
I cross the mountains of Aire,
I tread the inferno
For which I so much care.
And the Ténéré waits,
Impatiently.
I said I would be back,
On that special day.
I said this is my home,
The end of my road.
My eyes see the browns of Aire behind me,
Yet I am blind.
My eyes see the golden Sahara ahead,
Yet my heart sees black.
Not night,
Black –
Absence of colour.
Just absence,
And silence.
As I surf the first wave
My feet tread water.
Yet I make progress,
Up the relentless dune.
And still my journey is not done.
What was once a joy
Is now duty,
And an ending –
Of my suffering.
And the pains linger,
as I walk through the sand,
barefoot,
or so it feels.
My soles burn
But my soul is burnt.
My limbs ache.
I am the lamb
On its way –
To torture.
Yet I must continue.
I must fight the demon of the desert,
Tiredness.
I can not help
But get more tired.
But I must walk
Before I sleep.
For there is something I must see,
Some place I must go,
My home, my final home.
And through the crisp, cold desert night,
I see,
Without my eyes,
That I am nearly there.
Still the viper lurks in surprise,
The scorpion sharpens his needle,
And the sun burns reason out of my head.
In eight hours we will be there,
And I will be dead.
Copyright © 01.12.2000 – Kevin Mahoney