THIS too the conqueror of the worlds must dare, for this could be his greatest conquest.
Walking into an unknown realm through a dumb despairing night, his hubris unblemished.
Virtue was to his mind an act of sin ignorant folk practiced for the lack of tutelage from the evil jinn
A dire administrator’s working code, his hisses and chants embraced the wings of torture.
Aided by the villainous brouhaha he spread through out his years, the nefarious scoundrel strode.
The custodian of universal melancholy, the giant son of the luckless gloom, looked to seize;
The dark surface that none can pierce, the institutionalised climax to all that is matter.
Little did the emperor knew; after all, his boisterous majesty drowned everything else on the Earth,
Never having known anything other than the temptation vexed by tempered ambitions, he rode;
His large blind eyes looking out for demon acts, his truth is the one that his dumb lips spoke.
Not one to go gently into that darkness, he rolled up his sleeve, his fierce whip dancing of one hand,
His sword of nothingness on the other, his misguided fancies now at their pinnacle.
He marched with his ego impelling him, stabbing into the heart of the night, to utterly kill,
The reckless insurgent wouldn’t listen, would continue to melee in the matter’s abyss.
The mask, the shield, the garment to protect his chest, the airy movement, the war dance,
With no desire to disengage, he started to wield everything in his prowess, unwavering.
The pride and petulance of his mortality, his miniature earthly victories reminding him of his valour,
The nerve to stab the night got stronger with every passing sand of time. Advancing once more,
Into the fatal mist, disregarding the bodiless murmur traveling by his side warning against.
The cunning earthly fox’s compelled belief in the enamoured victory slowly dimming.
Ship the next batch of toys — the night looked at him with the curiosity of a newborn.
Looking to gauge her opponent, one whose savagery the earthlings cried oceans about.
She knew the bloody path he embarked upon was the gateway to the false infinite,
Yet she provoked him, like the proverbial courtesan; she made him go through the motions.
Her ego bigger than anything any mortal had ever known, racked with the fun to embarrass the rag.
She knew, from a legion of souls that she crushed, that the recipe for delight was inflicted torture.
The ominous initiation of a profoundly passive fight, the wily old-school, tire your opponent.
She sang the hymns of self-pain, one that mimicked the irrelevance in motion, in that pointless void
Guarded by veils of immortality, she grew dense; wanting to discipline the notorious murderer.
Now ready to take the rascal into her cold embrace performed her ritual of mysteries.
The coldness of the night suffocating him, revealed the futility, of his fight, Of his restlessness;
The desire to reign over, slowly giving into the abyss of certainty. Naive mortality though,
Fighting to not surrender, the cunning mind at work — plotting against the eventuality.
Against a sorceress who had been scripting the equanimity of non-existence since the any known
She saw many-a-man passer-by through her desolate profundity. The glamour and the wild beauty
Of that desert only ever appreciated by noble folk; the oblivion indubitably beyond his candour,
Lapped impressively all around him. The bonds of his castaway birth reaching their indescribable.
Dim illustrations of eternal mortality now slowly fading, the stark realisation that.
His dreams, his desires now irrelevant; moved closer nonchalantly for her embrace.
