Poetry

The Dying Wolf

Somewhere in the deepest and
darkest seclusion of this perplexing woods, I lay, on the brink of death's door with my soul that could no more find solace.
Wounded by betrayal, expectations and unparalleled duels, I kept my demand simple: to differentiate the vessel from the aathma.

Like the break of dawn in the darkest hour, an unknown, yet the most familiar call rapped on my wilted receptors.
Certainly, time was moving at a different pace for me.
Ghosting through the mist with the most elegant yet affirming steps towards me, you trotted- an embodiment of hope and life.
All I could do was surrender the non-beating heart to your flawless femininity.

You are an entity that effortlessly eclipses the cosmos with the extent of your love.
Not like when the Mona Lisa saw completion but as if it saw enhancement.
Glory no more held the same connotation, it remained not in these fleeting victories but in seeing that smile of yours; rarer than the bluest blue moon.
It was not a moment that altered my life but one that restored it.