The dawning sun hasn’t yet crested the distant horizon.
A beautiful sight reserves for the early wake.
The creator’s view painted to amaze.

My eyes still dimmed with the last moonlight embrace.
A reality dawn,
startled by a whip in my wrinkled ass.
A usual morning greeting from my master’s straw.

A start of a journey,
a whip of a hundred turning;
In the middle of the flying pan.
A bite of the scorpion queen,
dancing triumphantly at my aching feet.

Now a time of rest,
so I prostrate myself;
for by reason of the heavy traffic
to and from the Sahara mischief.

The path is not for trodden deep
“No, as yet it is, in fact not quite finished”
and so it was postponed again,
both the trekking and the whipping.

This poem was written/submitted by CHINWE.