Comatose waters on a deceased night
Stars draped over banyan roots
  Leaves deluged in the warmth
Of an eerie,  uncanny quiet
      All prisoners to the brutish night sky.

Fluttering, vibrant in white gossamer
She sways, ensnaring the banyan leaves
Awakening the murky deep
Vengeance against the silence
That has dwelled, haunted thus long.

         She's a ballerina
     Not of subtle elegant grace,
But sanguine..
    Somewhat saccharine subterfuge
           Harbinger of a moment's ecstasy
                She's a wandress
  And silence, just ONE
Of her many estranged lovers.