At The Victoria Falls (1) Poem by Gert Strydom

There is sprinkling-rain that sieves down at the waterfall,
the Kariba is overfull after the terrible rain
that follows after years of drought in dark Africa,
in anger the Nyaminyami in rage does roar
the natives say and with these words they look scared,
where the Victoria Falls roar
and over the precise water do fall down,
the deep cliff is streched wide while the river-god of the Zambezi
spits out mile upon mile of water,
where three rainbows hang simultaneously
over that stretch of water that are falling
and in a gigantic flood nothing can placate that evil river-god.
From the Devil's Cataract to the Great Gorge
gigantic columns of spray rise up high
as if the river-god roars like a water-dragon,
where I look down a hundred and ten meter and feel insignificant,
where the waterfall looks gigantic over its two-kilometre breadth,
while more than five hundred and fifty mega-litre of water flow per minute
do thunder to far below.

© Gert Strydom