" THE DARK DARING"

                               THE DARK DARING 

The dusky shadow descends then
         when the earthly mortals loose the reign.
Conscience craves to languish at the dim,
         the bleaky, murky, dingy,gray powers whim.


O look! Here comes the melancholy,
            the pervasive step-sister of lively.
As failure blazes a trail for abjection,
        solitude sneaks in through the crevice of dejection.


O see the goddess of darkness!
            A stalwart hiding his pale appearance,
the woes of his days were far too deep,
             he fought bravely yet he trip.


The dungeon is stinking ,the body is groaning ,
             the doleful hopes are way too sinking.
The face is crinkled, the eyes wrinkled,
        with folded hands he hid his silhouette crimpled.


Kith and kin showing no clemency, 
            the bosom amigos too took no fancy,
the rapports he had made for posterity ,
             none were found, all felt pity.


Once a theist did all his prayers,
             almed his fortune from his shares.
No almighty did win him laurels,
             the priest just vented he lacked morals.


O look! Here comes the tyro critic.
              Doesn't know a thing but giving his tick,
"his path was amiss, his ways were niche, 
              he deserved it as Karma is a bitch".


The wind gushed forth at the pane,
             slyly toying with the filthy curtain.
The bolt was latched, the door closed,
            then who knocked at his time dozed.


Was it a devil, was it divine?
            Come what may could be a wine.
Unwillingly he crept to the bolt,
            his eyes were widened with the jolt.


O look! Here comes again an evil portent.
        Black are the eyes, black is the mutant.
With white teeth she looked devilish,
       her childish smirk though made her embellish.


What could he do for the little refugee?
          who was shrouding from hounds crazy.
Four giant devils were yards back,
         and she seemed just a feast for the pack.


She was not dying till her last breath,
          tucking at the pants of her stalwart mate.
It could be her last run,
           if he had not chased with the dun.


She was still ticking at her salvager,
      how can she be portentous her looks were pleasure.
She is the one who saved herself,
        thought the savior who had lost the self.


A small creature could run so hard,
          unknowingly of any ward or card.
What stopped him from striving once again?
          She could be the lucky charm he might gain.


O look! Here comes the stalwart again
           with all his might and a friend with vane.
Nothing stops his now he has risen,
           the 'dark daring' has now brightened. 

                                                                            --  ROHIT RAJ