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The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Fourteen

Even sea-gulls mistake this lavish lap of water for sea
All day long their cries betray their delusion so eerie
Circling and swooping and settling on her deranged graces
Coming in with wild winds this day dismal and dreary

Cannon fire: a shot? Pigeons by the dozens take wing
Atlantic sea-gulls shriek and circle above her hovering
A squadron of bernache cravant takes to the air trumpeting
The alert blares loud: the Lady of the Lake is whimpering:

“Murder!” “Vile iniquitous act!” proclaim madly hopping crows
Shriek hell upon her tummy in motion: “Everybody knows!”
Grebes and coots dive to bring up the truth: “Dark purple poison!”
Behind tinted glasses Men of Paperasserie in throes.

Enticed inveigled lured to her fallen tripped entrapment
Her cervical and lumbar discs verily out of joint
No many-splendoured rays of the rising and setting sun
Reflect the rhododendron dews of her irises glint

Only the lone Bard of Nishapur hears her anguished quails:
“They see not the heinous hurt of the hills dug into dales
Nor drink they pure geothermal juices of the guts of the earth:
Here must I lie die till Sister Seine flows into my entrails!”
    © T. Wignesan – Paris,  2013

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