Jungle Rules & Desert Lessons

Jungle Rules & Desert Lessons

By Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

In the sweltering cradle of the Sharrah Desert, where sand dunes rise like sleeping giants and the wind sings ancient lullabies, life whispers one sacred law: survive... but never without purpose.

As the golden sun climbs higher, casting long slashes of shadow across the land, the jungle at the desert’s edge wakes up not with birdsong, but with tension. The kind that hums in your bones before you even know why. Something’s about to happen.

The camera pans across cracked earth and wiry shrubs. Silence hangs, thick and tight.

Then movement.

A herd of gazelle, sleek and jittery, graze near a dried-up creek bed. Their ears flick, their legs ready for flight at the sound of a snapping twig. But the danger doesn’t come from the ground this time.

It comes from the tall grass.

There, low as a whisper, a lioness slinks forward. Her belly kisses the dirt, her muscles bunch like coiled rope. She is the embodiment of patience every paw placed with silent precision. Her golden eyes never blink, never waver. She’s locked onto the weakest of the herd a young buck, limping, favoring his rear leg.

Nature doesn’t pity. It prepares.

Suddenly chaos.

The lioness explodes from the brush like a thunderclap. The dust kicks up in violent swirls. Gazelles scatter in a flurry of hooves and wild eyes. But she’s already chosen. She’s not chasing all just one.

The young buck stumbles, recovers, bolts. The lioness is gaining, each stride more ruthless than the last. You can hear her breath, deep and primal. The gazelle zigzags wildly, its hooves cutting trenches in the dirt. Its eyes are wide with panic, its chest heaving.

Then a sharp turn.

The buck leaps down a slope, hooves skidding. The lioness follows, slips then recovers mid-air with a twist that would shame gravity. She nearly catches the gazelle’s flank, jaws snapping shut just inches from flesh. The sound like bone scraping steel hangs in the air.

But the buck makes it to the riverbed a stretch of dry stone now littered with sun-bleached bones. The lioness charges one last time, a final burst of fury and fire. She lunges. Claws out. The world seems to hold its breath.

And then contact.

They tumble. Dust erupts. A dance of violence and need.

The lioness pins the gazelle, her jaws clamping around its throat not with hatred, but with purpose. The buck twitches once, then stills.

Silence returns.

She rises, chest heaving, eyes wild with triumph and exhaustion. Blood drips from her muzzle. She does not roar. There’s no victory speech. Just a slow, sacred exhale.

This is the hunt. This is life stripped bare.

Back in the trees, a pack of wild dogs watch. They won’t dare challenge her now but give it time. The jungle doesn't reward rest. It watches. It waits.

This moment bloody, fierce, beautiful is not just about survival. It’s a sermon. A declaration. That life comes with struggle, but also with glory. That sometimes, the greatest peace follows the most brutal storm.

And isn't that just like us?

We fight through storms that try to break us. Chase dreams that sometimes outrun us. Get knocked down, get back up, teeth clenched, spirit sore. Some days, we’re the lioness hungry, focused, relentless. Other days, we’re the gazelle dodging pain, outrunning fear, praying we make it one more minute.

But always, always we are part of this divine wilderness. Whether we win or lose, whether we hunt or heal.

Even in this harsh and holy land, nothing is wasted. Even the fall matters. The dust remembers. The wind carries every cry.

So, when your soul feels raw like it’s been hunted, like the sun won't quit, like you're out of breath but still not where you're going remember this lioness.

She didn’t apologize for her hunger. She didn’t doubt the chase. She simply ran, believed, fought, fed.

And when she stood, bloodied and breathless, the whole desert bowed in quiet respect.

This is the law of the jungle.

This is the truth of the spirit.

May we all chase what matters with claws out and hearts full.