Effigies, enemies

edited by Anjasi

In the beak of a black raven
stirs the oasis where
nestled a scarecrow guards
the harvest and harvester.

Rings around his torn jute cap,
hands of hay and shoes second hand,
hums the stomping of the dragon.
This breath of wrath, this spitfire.

Burnt to ash, burnt to the earth, black birds,
circle above the plague and pestilence.
Cursed dead eyes grow grief 
and night here wails within waking dreams.

Howling winds scare the hungry faces of children,
cold winds on countryside,
valleys ablaze, maniacal cities and wild jungles
where scarecrows wander unafraid.

Blood shadows such night skies,
a wreath upon the songs of raven cries.
Foxes, pumas, owls and boars,
all wilderness shivers for winter is here.

Come the soul of the shadow,
burns this body of the scarecrow.
It has long kept evil away.
One at last, altogether burning.