Dali Narratives

Parched Reflection

The savanna was vast,

Stretching from one end of the earth to the other,

All life resided on its life-bearing borders,

Where the trees grew tall and the morning mists lingered thick.

On the east end of the savanna lived a tribe of grey people,

Whose living was so luxurious that their numbers grew crowded,

They sought to expand their village into the sands.

One by one they loaded their belongings onto their elephants,

Whose legs had grown tall to reach the leaves of the mighty border trees,

And atop of spindly, thin legs, they marched into the dunes.

And though they walked for days,

Nothing seemed to change,

The trees eventually faded from their vision,

But the dunes seemed patterned, repeated,

Mocking their journey.

Grey infants sobbed as the sun pinkened their skin,

But they trusted their Chieftain,

Who promised solace in the center of the sands,

So they continued to march,

 Even after their flasks dried to bone.

Crusted eyes widened at the blurry shapes on the horizon,

Chapped, grey lips called the good news to the others,

"Home, we've made it home!"

Their pace quickened, 

But as the shapes grew nearer confusion set in,

They met in the center of the sands,

Where it was said an Oasis was suppose to live,

But instead of water they found an equally parched reflection,

Another chieftain atop a long legged elephant,

Leading his people,

Whose skin was tinged blue instead of grey,

And who had marched from the West instead of the East.

Parched Reflection Cont.

The muttering soon began,

Thousands of doubtful voices, low but clear,

Asking where the water was,

Smiting the chieftains,

For dooming them in the savanna sun.

A mighty shriek pulled them from their judgement,

And just beyond a dune to their right,

Twitched a giant, charred tree trunk,

In the shape of a man's face.

Its roots jerked erratically, 

Thirst driving the demon's will,

When it shrieked again, 

It revealed its horrors,

identical, but smaller screaming faces,

Buried in the eye sockets and mouth of the first.

The peoples' shock was broken, 

By the small pattering of rain,

Hitting their shoulders,

As water soothed their cracking skin, 

They could no longer fear in that moment.

Until the screams grew louder,

The roots shot out and in an unholy show,

They drank every rain drop before they could hit the ground,

Or the people.

The people hid from the screaming demon for several days,

They could not go back now,

Without water they would surely die.

One day, the rain clouds were darker than most others,

Lightning struck the trunk,

Making it shriek, and further charring its bark,

But for a moment, the trunk did not drink the rain.

The chieftains worked together on a plan,

And together on a very dry day,

They chucked a torch into the eye of the demon.

The flames burned,

The shrieks bellowed louder than ever,

But eventually, the demon succumbed.

The screams stopped for good.

Rain followed the next morning,

Dark clouds brought enough to pool in different low points of the dunes, 

The ponds created the Oasis that was meant to live there,

And the tribes lived in harmony.