Untitled Poem

Caution: Some of the poetry might be graphic, so kids, if you're caught reading this, you're mom's gonna whoop your ass...


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He saw her late that night,
Coming out of the Opera,
Dressed in shimmering white,
And her glistening silver tiara.

His face slathered with spite,
Clouding in the grey,
In the rain from last night,
That forgot to fade away.

Devoured by his steely eyes,
From his dark secret perch,
A large trenchcoat covering lies,
A sinister angel in the lurch.

Crouching at momentary lapse,
Menacing steps and sweaty palms.
She looks to him and gasps!
And falls right into his arms.

They slink to a deep dark alley,
To do deep dark deeds,
She knows not her folly,
As she slowly bleeds.

Etiquette thrown unawares,
Gyrating without a pause,
A splatter of brown wet mud,
On her white dress that was.

His breath upon her skin warm,
Like fire against wind and water,
They made love through the storm,
She was the lamb led to the slaughter.

A final war cry of passion,
Clenched fingers clawing the skin,
It was over, it was done.
Her blood dribbled down his chin.

She lay on the wet ground,
Lifeless, not a moment too soon,
Mouth wide open without a sound,
Her face as pale as the moon.

He arose,
His skin frighteningly fair,
The streetlights flickered
In the deathly cold air...
Whistling without a tune,
The air he kissed.
He was soon nothing
But a silhouette in the mist...


- Arvind (13th September, 2006)

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