THE PASSING OF KAJIKA    ( The name means Walks without a sound)

Through many phases of the moon

he sits fasting, praying; a shell

from which all life but breath

has fled, awaiting The Passing.

Once more, a blood-red crescent

crowns a nearby mountain top,

dispersing the shroud of night,

its growing warmth caressing his face,

ancient, leathered and weathered

by Winter snows and countless suns.

His closed eyes filter the light

through almost translucent lids,

painting the membranes scarlet.

His cadaverous arms outstretched,

beseech his honoured ancestors

to share Eternity with him.

The morning breeze strengthens

riffling his war bonnet plumes

rummaging through his cloak of hide,

inquisitively fingering, the flaccid,

battle-scarred skin, which cleaves

tenaciously to bones as old as memory.

As his shadow foreshortens,

an eagle swoops from a distant summit

and circles low above his head,

its wing beats whispering

on the welcoming wind,

'Come, Kajika, come.'

N.B At one time according to legend, North American Indians would take their aging elders up a mountain to die and be received by their honoured ancestors.