Night of the Dhole

A whistling scream.

When mist falls on the forest
and the silvery meadows,
deer turn their heads
and dart into the trees.

Peacocks scatter
into the undergrowth.
The last brave sambar
stands in the grass,
spying the forest's edge.

Screams echo.
The sambar takes flight.
A single dhole emerges
from the trees,
with white teeth bared
and a coat of red fur.

The pack scourges the meadows -
infiltrates the forest
as the night draws in.
Wolves flee
from their hungry growls
and voracious yapping.

Somewhere in the darkest tangle
of bamboo thickets, a sleeping tiger
hears the whistling pack
and twitches.

NaPoWriMo #15 | Eyes of the Forest

So I've reached the halfway point in my NaPoWriMo odyssey. To celebrate, I've written another India poem, this time about gray langur monkeys. These monkeys are found right across Indian, from the forests of Madhya Pradesh to the foothills of the Himalayas. Hope you enjoy.

Eyes of the Forest

A gray langur relaxes
on the highest branch
of a slender sal tree.

A grey mane of fur
around her black face,
with unblinking eyes.

A baby huddles against
its mother as she watches
the silent forest floor.

A younger langur lounges
on a spindly branch.
He barks, stirring the others.

The troop takes up the call
as a spotted shadow slinks
through the undergrowth below.

The leopard retreats into
the greenery, and the mother
and her baby can relax again.