2 Poems

 Slow, the vultures circle in the sky

Slowly the hyaenas walk on earth, and make an outcry

The snakes with small, squat, poisonous heads raise them

To strike, but are "mocked by a tissue that will not serve"

They shall all die and their bodies shrivel up

in forest and desert and city, village, town;

"hang in a pitiful crescent". In hell, fry.

2.

Flights of black birds in formation

overhead, going home

or to sleep

turn the evening into winged dreams

There are bruises on the sky

cuts and wounds -

part of the fact that birds can fly -

in the clouds

Red gashes

blue or black

turning the evening into

purple twilight and night

The birds continue their flight

looking effortless

Do they wish to be wingless

and grounded

with or like us here, down below

the way humans wish they could float, unwounded

in the air of the heavens; 'weightless', cutting a path

through, free, in endless flight?

The two quotes are from two poems by Samuel Beckett called the Vulture and Yoke of Liberty respectively