Underneath the quilt’s warmth
hands became untamed like starving lions.
The very hands that once felt dove’s wings.
But the wings folded when lungs were squeezed.
The hands began to roar and seek flesh for their needs.
Needs that grow like roots only to strangle feelings.
The vigorous hands shattered bones after bones,
Although there was still warmth left underneath the quilt.
Hell’s door opened and the hands got burned every night.
The intolerable pain they inflicted finally bled through the eyes.
Down the life line blood trickled,
And then vanished quickly below devil’s wrist.
Madness was just another name of freedom as it
freed all emotions, inside a tight space with green lights;
they fluttered like butterflies in rough winds.
While the hands tried to shield,
Strength was already burned by hellfire.
Every time mornings came with changes.
Like daylights knew how to cripple the beast.
As hours piled up, days became mountains,
And climbing up was a tall task.
Then sun melted on the slope…turning fingers into claws again.
Ripping fake veils of light they stretched into dark.
Fear brought back a familiar cry,
While nightmares waited long for another morning.
Sadly the morning never came and the ecstasy
of years guided the hands to mold its pride.
The pride that causes to lose faith
The pride that bosoms penitence.
The demon’s grip never let go of the fire.
And as this fire spreads, the roaming ground
for the untamed beast becomes bigger and brighter.
