Xvi: Siren At Midnight
Innocent weavers
Sat still mourning –
The siren heralded
At midnight
The emergency swords in the rafter
Like a lone early morning cock.
The forest was a terror spot
Helter-skelter in blood-discolouration
Marking a nest of the free?
Terror & anger clashed
Again & again
In man rearing the seeds of the night:
Shrewd pebbles of inviolable intents
And mutilated feathers in a battered nest!
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