SITA

The last song of a bird wounded in the forest fire .
A song composed with silence .
A seed slept,
in the cleaved soil.
And a cry enveloped 
with the armour ,stained in blood ,
and a chariot lost it's wheel

Daughter ,
And thus ,
I draw,
I draw,
a circle around you with the tip of my arrow.

Sleep well,
like the seed in the wounded soil .
When the war comes ,
hold your hands on the
knots, 
I tied on your legs,
hold your hands on your pain,
Hold you closer .
Hold you closer

Daughter ,
I take your tongue, 
reciting the tales of thousand and one nights

I take your slim fingers , 
hide the seeds of dreams.
I take your toes ,
dance between the dreams and screams. 
I take your eyes ,
see the stars in the night.,
and the moon fades in the daylight .

I take your soul,
smells the soil wet in the rain.

And 
I take you to the flames,
smile like my gold crown .

A cry fades slowly in the flames .....

And
I conquer,
The greens, the hills, the streams and the fire .

A cry fades slowly in the flames .....

©josesarang