HOME SWEE’ HELL
Sliding from the cold and blue
He marked his way across the view.
A subtle rage of a frozen despair;
An imprint on his chest of a slow devour.
Swiftly he strode to shelter his scheme,
To find another ferocious victim.
A ‘Postulant’, he proclaimed to charm the mob:
An angel’s veil; a majestic heart-throb.
She raised her hand and caught hold of his
Guzzled the fine chalice of Hiss!!
Years had passed and the gold still young,
But a scar of a `nail on his left arm.
She stormed in like a Nightingale and kissed his heart.
The scar now seemed like an unbearable mark,
Jars and glasses fell off the shelf,
Yet another fragile prey on a march.
A dawn is a fool’s hope my dear,
You shall be raised like a finest beer.
Here i stand holding your impeccable soul,
For this is a glamour of our sweet home..!!