You roam the Andes
where the morning rays kindle your beak.
The solid granite supports you
when your wings do not flail the air.
Below you yawn the dark chasms.
The plumes that cover you are silky black
like the satin of queens.
Your beak heralds the coming of dawn
and your eyes are kindled by the sunlight.
Your curled and tempered talons
are whetted on the grinding stone of cruelty.
Your ruthlessness is betrayed by your defiant look,
lawless, amoral and untrammelled.
The freedom of the sky bathes you in it;
no limitation hampers you.
For you darkness is not a snare
hiding a thousand hungry jaws.
Nobody seeks to know your acumen
and to gauge the power
in your brawn and your backbone.
Your are a god that needs no other god.