Across the sub-Saharan plains,
Where summer grass meets seasonal rains,
A shadow moves in silent grace,
The rightful ruler of this space.
Panthera leo, fierce and proud,
Whose golden roar commands the cloud,
They form the pride, a bond so deep,
Where weary kings and cubs can sleep.
From vast savannas stretched and wide,
To Gir’s dry forests where few hide,
They seek the brush, the shade, the stream,
To rest beneath the midday beam.
An apex crown upon their head,
No natural foe is theirs to dread;
A keystone force that guards the land,
Balancing nature’s fragile hand.
By culling weak and older herds,
They speak the wild’s unspoken words,
Preventing blight and overgrazing,
Kept by a rhythm so amazing.
It is the queens who stalk the night,
In structured teams of lethal might,
To chase the zebra, buffalo, beast,
And bring the pride their heavy feast.
They gorge, they rest, they guard the throne,
In territories called their own,
A royal line of ancient grace,
That time itself cannot replace.
