Nightingale Wiothout a Tongue
have you ever heard a song
sung pitifully by a tongue-less nightingale
vomiting blood on a treetop bathed in the moonlight
the soft sound softer than the moonlight
the clear sound clearer than the early morning dew;
even constantly chattering water pauses for a moment
to listen her enchanting song more attractive than the sirens’
she was once roaming around the sky above Leibethra at night,
she sang a requiem with her flawless clear voice
calling and gathering to comfort the soul
that was torn to pieces and dumped in a river,
now she is trying to tell her bitter and resentful story,
and how her tongue was cut off but with her hoarse voice;
it’s unintelligible like Cassandra’s prophesy, an entangled skein of thread never able to undo, it sounds hollow like an echo from mouth of a cave that can never be understood
the nightingale’s low moan of despair
is the scar that never goes away, and when this scar
becomes a terrible pain. unbearable, the nightingale,
as if moonlight covering a passing cloud, flies away
abandoning the branch
Note. Nightingale: Philomela
Copyright © Su Ben | Year Posted 2015
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