Long Lost Relatives

Struggling in French to talk to the nativesWe buy bread and ask directions.They smile, but remain French –No need to break sweat thoughWhen we stuff ourselves in aComfortable, cosy bistro.And then a trip into the cave –Glowing now with heat of scienceUntil a guide, throwing a switch,Drowns the group in a darknessAs timeless and impenetrable asThe world of the cave artists.They were hunters who painted rich,Gorgeous pictures of the animalsWho haunted their dreams.For to wander in a land laid wasteBy ice as cold as deathWas surely to wonder aboutThe creatures who shared their world –Locked into life and deathThere was no escape from theBeauty and the blood of the lifeWhich was in and around them.So maybe they paid homageTo the creatures they killed for food and skin,Life in different shape and form -But life only their art could resurrect.

Perhaps, in the flickering light of burningAnimal fat, when they gave birth again toThe beings who shared the sight of the sunAnd the bewildering stars, they became human -Creatures who dwell on the created worldAnd the world of their own creation.