Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Devil and Hope

Traces of blood still exist
Specks of dust untouched on the skin

Dry and crumpled self is sheathed by the skin
Rusted layers peel off exposing the frigid mind

Sitting on the couch of hopelessness
Unable to shake away the spasms of an under nourished intellect

The devil dances in front of me
Challenges me for another battle

Chides my virility, spews invectives at me
Reminds me of my past heroics

I bow to him
Like the proverbial king Vikram bowing to Baital

I accumulate all my wherewithal
Filled with the exuberance to defeat him, I rise

Only to find that the purpose is no longer alive
Only to degrade to one more level of abysmal hopelessness

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