Irena Pasvinter

I feel him, circling my land,
I smell him:
a young loner,
gathering boldness
to tear into my flesh,
drive me out.

Here they run, my lionesses,
dragging a kill.
It tastes good, still warm,
the blood is refreshing.
The loner, he hunts for himself
but feels ripe for a change.

I’m full.
I’ll leave the rest to the cubs,
let them gorge it.
Too bad he’ll finish them off
if he takes over —
they’re too young
to hope for his mercy.
He’ll mate with my pride
to sire his own.

I feel him, circling my land,
I smell him.
Come on, let him charge,
the young fool,
I’ll rip him to pieces.

I’m tired of waiting.

©2012 This work is the property of the author.


Posted on October 14, 2012, in Irena Pasvinter, POETRY and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 5 Comments.

  1. The last of Irena’s poems [ONLY] for the time being, I hope. How about this piece of writing?

    Read her first MM poem, BETRAYAL:

  2. Flecked with pride the lioness expects to be hunted and mated always waiting to be updated
    for the overkill from from an explorer new to the jungle in a lushness of glandular freedom of body language enlarged with the bon appetite of a word feast.

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