The Siren Song

She was a siren

with broken teeth and detached fin

who had been nursing her hounds

but never quite healing.

She did roam, albeit within boundaries

drifting along the murky clouds

and the hailstorms

singing forgotten songs of centuries.

The diamond of first water,

she was named

yet the shine she had, her smile

enclosed and tamed

to reflect off the walls and halls

that she unwillingly chose

for willingly exchanging her name.

Yet one particular downpour,

in the jet-black night,

broke through the walls

that held her inside.

As the dams broke down

and hell broke loose,

she climbed up her marital bed

for her captor to irrevocably take

her remaining sense of sanity.

When he was high in throes of pleasure

she stabbed him midway.

She bathed in his blood

until the last trace of breath left.

Eyes wide she was visibly shaken,

Yet with the echoes of the siren song

her laughter sounded hysterical

celebrating the love that was sowed 

and revenge that was taken.

© srijaprasita