The slice of the stale Moon
Oozing blood at the edge of a cloud
Paints terror in the staid night;
Witches roam the eerie graveyards
To feed on the blemished souls;
Stars cling to fronds and leaves
Being afraid of the blood
Of the Sun, slaughtered
On the other side of the hill;
The heart rending bawls inside
The ruins of an unconquered fort
Mourns the valour of daunting army.