For the tele-visions in their televisions
we gave the shirts off our backs
and traversed into that sunset
of a never ending night-time
neither of us have yet to return from
of native echoes long lost
with the mutters to their songs
of who they once were
and the empty cattle kraals heralding
herds traded for false reflections
that since followed the sun
to its eternal slumber
The ashes of the dead campfire
ponder the return of the nomad
who left awander in seek
of the oasis that once germinated
the very roots of his being
and the wisdom of his elders
If only we could learn to read
and follow the stars
like we did before, surely
the cradle still longs our rebirth
Awaiting that reclamation, longing
our own homecoming
Surely then, the night
will abandon these tele-visions
and greet the sun again, to become
our eternal compass
and timekeeper