Shy and wise and white as snow,
gazing upon the moon;
With open eyes and folded wings,
she sings her hollow tunes.
Calling out, to he who sleeps,
and keeps her wide awake;
Who broke her wings and left her heart,
impaled onto a stake.
Perched atop, his window sill,
she waits for him to rise;
For vengeance not, she waits for love,
while in his dreams he cries.
Out to her and out of pain,
he screams into the night;
Screeching now, this bird of lust,
awaits his pearly eyes.
By: Viraj Belgaonkar
