by Nick Gisburne
When Koorah pulls her baby from its bed,
The Mother Cult is generous with praise,
For, in the prophet’s credo it is said
A second son on sunlight shall not gaze.
But Koorah is no follower, no fool,
No empty vessel waiting to be filled.
An infidel, she scorns a sacred rule:
By dawn he must be mercilessly killed.
The bundle in the box is not the child,
The Sisters, sightless, cleverly deceived.
With trickery, their temple is defiled,
Her elegant illusions all believed.
She flies beyond the boundary, pursued,
Delighted to deprive them of their food.
