THE CYCLE

Smoke clouds her mind, inciting a parasite,

The parasite within, feeding on all things pleasant,

Intent on leaving a carcass, after many a game,

The blaze failed her, that which lent brief ecstasy.

In a concert of sorts, vision blurs, her will bails,

Time mercilessly treads as she falls apart,

Her insides cringe beneath the hovering misery,

Amidst flashes of a life, some life she let stray.

In vain, she props her form, nor even a stir

A palpable frenzy latches on to her heart,

She pauses to breathe, lest her sanity departs,

Yet  something departs, some brawn, some spirit.

And just as she ceased, a glorious dawn peeks,

To set her free from the prowl of blue devils,

That lurks in dark corners, stalking now and again,

That comes to play at night, cowardly as it is.

Drawing her eyes shut to the waning darkness,

Gulping the thick air, infused with elements,

Listening, to the quite, the apparent stillness,

Feeling the here of now, the now of here,

She lulls the agony that hit alike shards,

Yet another night awaits, another cycle gears,

But for now…. today has arrived.

Swetha. M