The Nests of Nandigram

Is it my imagination
Or are there far fewer birds singing ?
What dawn do they mutely await
Through the long night of terror ?
Silence speaks of pervasive fear
And of the loss of ancestral nests.

The protector has taken an axe to the trees.
Trees fall; the earth shakes.
Raucous cries of dispossession supplant birdsong
As the khaki-clad hunters pot sitting ducks
While Zeus' swans feast on Leda's flesh.

Rejoice, my countrymen, for the prophecy has come true
-The state has indeed withered away.