Climbing Kilimanjaro

The garden zone - friendly, forest zone - cool.

Night fell too soon, when the steeply sloped rain forest,

and the servant hills, slipped underneath us, in the dark.

I fought my way upwards, headlamp illuminating nothing

but poring dirt; all around me, the sounds of leopards,snakes

and — geography confused, in this primordial forest,

where life springs from decay.

We camped, and stripped to nakedness,

trying to rebuild our shattered spirits with fresh clothes

and tea. Sleep came uninvited like a burglar,

silently stealing half finished cups from suddenly

limp arms.

Next morning, saw the departure
of those who could take no more

of this risk route; trip turned task.

Each day, life thinning out, nothing to be shared,

but pollo, pollo, slowly, slowly,

and then we left the earth.
There could now be no rescue,
even helicopters need air to breathe.

On we climbed, and lungs heaved normally,

but tired muscles never received relief,

and no sound, other than those you made,

to keep an empty skull company.

We were now beyond the zone of life.

Beneath us, the jets, like pond skaters,

criss-crossing the expanse that was Africa,

and the curve of the world lay below and beyond.

On the last night, we tricked the mountain;

using its frozen steps to climb, when she slept.

By the time the sun had risen, we had reached her top,

standing ragged for our moments glory,

each a god among men, albeit with feet of clay.

Descent was by the coca cola route,

and with each thousand metres we fell,

fresh tears came,
as emotion, and life, and oxygen returned.

I looked back
calling out your name
so you might save me

but even my footprints

were already erased.

©Copyright Niall OConnor

Images borrowed from Web