The Black Eagle
The black eagle kicked Heaven's face,
And the earth caught wild fire,
Gliding down tearing up the hissing winds,
With his armoured open palms.
The black eagle cut the air into pieces,
With his muscular strength,
And slapped the Earth's face,
Red waters run down her face.
The black eagle scrolled his bloodshot eyes,
Down spying the walking chicken,
Peeled his sharpened fingernails,
And swooped down at a blind chick.
The black eagle deafened his sharp ears,
As the mother-hen clucked angrily,
Pacing up and down the chimney breast,
Like a woman whose house is engulfed in flames.
The black eagle beat his open palms back,
Sliding through the winds like lightning,
Flapping, clapping, with the chick in his giant palms,
Sharpening the pencil of his concave iron-lips.
The black eagle tore the innocent chick,
Apart, part by part, the chick's shut eyes
Opened wider than the Gates of Hell,
Murmuring, dying in the palms of death.
The black eagle is the bird of the king,
From the roof of the skies, white fire filled,
To the bottom of the earth, black fire filled,
Bird of the king is the king of all birds.