conceived in a grey tomb
it grows in the conditioned womb,
discussed and debated by the quorum,
a shade of black in a primal form –
‘evil is dark but develops a shade of grey
judge we must not,
for even God let the devil have a say.’
conceit and contempt deliver it,
suckling at the tragic, and the trodden,
it gets nurtured by wounds forgotten.
pricks hurt it more as it grows,
longs for clean slits in violent throes.
tricks learnt not with gracious flair
but excruciating fits in its hideous lair.
ambition makes it sad
and contentment precludes.
standing tall, feigning a calming glance,
an upright nemesis with an unjust stance,
consciousness in a suspended state,
rising with glee,
it mocks the likes of destiny and fate.
gaping at the moonlit night,
stars push him to rage as it takes flight.
shining eyes of the beast
marvel at the murmuring feast,
twisted tentacles wrap around
as it devours everything on the ground.
night breeze now carries
the rot of the slain dreams,
as an inimitable thought,
it pervades the once tranquil mind,
forsaking the lure of heaven
for hell is all it wants to find.