……...as I solemn paled upon the brow,

my heart wanting to leap

beyond the cage and free,

my gaze became a cinematic camera,

and all forgotten was pain and breath

and lack of spittle.

 

I cared not – my clothes sticky -

clinging like a spiders web and catch,

my eyes askance as if upon a host

of the evangelical – but,

not a soul here but me as all religion – humbled; fades.

 

Long the valley echoed had me silenced,

and long my focus like infinite depths of fields,

this could be a place for Ibek,

this could be a Falcons paradise,

this could end my nonsense gait

this could be a home for fluent souls

of searching wonders,

‘an Ibek smiled upon my left.’

 

No soldier lives here,

No people too,

Beyond the Moray Firth and further still,

Where Sutherland begins the Munroe Trails

and Figures sway but none opaque,

no shadows cast but smiling more,

Dames and Lords and Lairds and Queens bequeath,

All now Emigrant ‘in being free,’

 

‘my Sainted Hue joins their host,

the Strath and Formant holding strong,

here dwells the finest,

here be, Our Home!’

 

 

 

Michael J Waite 12th February 2025.