Requital

M Minakshi Devi
A banshee plays a single song on a dusty piano stored for long,
Within the deserted attic she rests in gloom and spends.
She mutters over and over that they must repent.
Her wails shook the haunted house from the base to the broken crown.
Her floating spirit sits upon the wonky wood As she sobbed pouring her pain on the tune With  an ache of neglected despair.
Her voice hollow and soft like a deadly nightingale.
She harmonized a slaughter from her throat as she finally fought.
In the wake of her mantra, she trapped the monarch of lies.
They make no further remarks at the end
of her performance.
Oh!  What a beauty with a weapon in her hums.