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

Haunted

She was a fiery sprite

who with her dainty steps

left behind the trail of blooms

across the hills and moors of hope.

She was a ballerina

who danced with the wind

and spun love and dreams

scattered it over the slope

for others to pick them up

and wear them as their crown.

On one stormy night

wizard of the dark realm,

smitten with her smile

caged her in his unrelenting grasp

squeezing every single drop

of magic she held.

Drained and dried, with a final goodbye

she left unchaperoned

leaving behind the haunting shadows

over the vast stretch of snowy canvas.

And every once in a while

they hear the bell ring

with her cries

echoing in tandem

with the wails of storm that passes by

leaving behind the scattering remains

of broken twigs.

© srijaprasita