Siren’s Lament


Pale hands caress the white guitar

softly strumming

a sadness gathered in

pouring through the strings

yet almost silent.


Trying not to wake them

she plays love songs in the grey Chicago morning;

her tears touch gentle discords

on the heartstrings.


And I for just a moment

wish to lie beneath her fingers

as her lips form quiet whispers

red-gold hair a blessed curtain

over curves outlined in blue

bringing back a night remembered

breasts glowing in the flashing

of a sudden lightning spear.


But if I step towards her

I’ll be entangled with the others

in a web of red-gold heartstrings

captured, sleeping in her sight.


Leave her to her singing

hear her breath upon the morning

leave her tears so silent falling

walk away.




M. A. Mohanraj

June 30, 1993