Tapanuli

Sun shoots in crystalline rays,

the razors of grass blades make openings

in which the sorrowful crimson liquid creeps down tensed hairs.

The owner of these hairs lies willingly in the ochre log.

Eyelashes brushing along skin, the man rests.

His bruised hand is touched by an unknown being

before it vanishes into the figments of a forest.

The tree chopping monster only gets a glimpse of this marvellous species.

With feet bare of laced protection, the destroyer flails carelessly towards this beautiful thing.

This is not love, but murder.

This is a whisper ignored by a monstrosity.

Stumbling as a blind thing of darkness in a world of light, he sees.

A Tapanuli infant embraced by the thing that gives her life. A mother.

The speechless killer drops a hatchet of nightmares, and the ground seizes him as his knees buckle to the ground.

A new feeling courses through this monster’s veins and thumping heart.

Sorrow.