Cassandra fable...

Baby Cassandra...

Baby Cassandra bubbling high,
Who'll listen to a blurting child?
She is sweet, they call her cute,
She’s a doll, she’s no muse.
Life she knows little,
Little baby Cassandra.
Take her to the fairyland,
So the angels embrace her.


Bumming Cassandra...

A fable in the modern days,
On the roads of a metropolis.
Wandering about in search of nothing,
Who’s she ? A myth from Greece.
Picking up words from dingy lanes,
She weaves a fresh folklore.
You might spot her in the midst of a crowd,
But for sure she’ll ignore.
Don’t disturb her,
Though she is not busy.
Hibernating in the crowd,
She’s meditating.
She is not a native of the city you live,
But she knows this place more than you can feel.



Baleful Cassandra...

Don’t trust her,
The muse called Cassandra,
A demoralizing soul, an eternal predator.
She’s a witch, will enchant your sense,
The poor soul poet will become her pet.
She’ll play to him that she loves…
The day will come and he’ll be downcast.
Save your soul poet!
Save your words!
She is a venomous angel,
A skylark from the fog.


Babbling Cassandra...

Frittering in darkness at temple corner,
She is the princess who foretells future.
Phoebus Apollo loved her once,
Breaching vow she invited his wrath.
Cursed that no one will ever heed,
She is a relic of an ignored heath.
But; she is Cassandra, babbling around,
In a fiery island she was found.
An alternative vision to know your words,
She is not a deity, an ill-omened trollop.