A Falcon
It swoops.
Its eyes are
a pair of
visual images
of wildness.
Its micro-mind
stretches into
voracious rapture
while soaring
with its prey.
A Cobra
It wriggles
within the claws,
a closed space
for discharging
opposite energies -
to eat, to exist.
A Pedestrian
The cobra slips out
and lands on his
shoulder. Winding,
it bites on his neck.
Already a half-
carcass, it succumbs.
Later, he too. A
meandering death -
from the sand
through the air,
then straight down
to his neck
out of the blue.
Art Of Death
Death seems an
art in diversity.
Ultimate charm
of creation is in
its abstract end.
Many make it
awkward with
anxieties arising
from blood and
gold; a few, serene
through realization.
First published in Skylight 47, Ireland
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Really an interesting story well articulated and nicely brought forth with conviction. Thanks for sharing, Fabiyas.