A lady
flaps her outstretched wings
amid a drunken crowd.
The place,
smoke-filled and noisy,
notices her flamboyant wings
burning in their white glittery exterior.
The crowd falls silent, mesmerized
with her as she keeps
their drunken consciousness
in magic.
The wings appear on evenings
and mutate as lumps on her back every morning.
With her wings, she extends herself.
Only, this night is different.
The crowd’s furious at her,
envious of her wings.
A man assaults her,
strangles her frail hand
as others follow in excitement.
Amid the clamor of souls,
blood gushes from her shoulders,
her every feather plucked out
taking flight into thin air.
The lady’s bellowing,
incomparable to her cries
whenever the feathers emerge on evenings.
Blood-stained wings
lie helplessly on the floor.
In seconds, the crowd resumes
as if nothing happened.
The lady,
alone with lumps remaining.
/august 1999
