IZERGIL.

By Shruti Bhattacharya

Virgil and Mary

And a catastrophe was born

Indeed;

They named her Izergil;

her fate was burdened

slouched with worry

painted in musk

and yet felt like divine.

Such was her floral beauty;

Earth was her shine,

she was born for the seas.

Her hair was blue;

A shade of opal and juniper

Eyes orbs of ochers;

And dark as the night,

She was the Nyx of beauty.

Like an epic;

Like a poem;

Like a luminance;

Like the night;

She was the apothecary,

Holy for lovers

Blooming poison

Drunk

A chunk of forbidden.

When she lit a candle

The dead howled for end.

When she sighed over the mantle

The castle spirits made an amend.

She was evil.

She didn’t know.

She crawled the paths of apocalypse

She was the dark of night.

She was the beauty

She was the vengeance.

She was the flesh

Of pulp-less trees

Yet she was wrath of the pyre.

Grown in the foams of water

drunk in the salts of sand

her mane was black and blue

scaled with blemish and freckles

she shined when it was doom

bloomed in the gloom

her breath made mortals crave

want

desire

divine

epitome of surreal.

Such was her power

She cried the

mirth of happy

sorrow was the sebum she shed.

Cotton was her lips

Unreal

White

And soft.

No one could kiss her;

She was the end

The plight of begone.

One could only look at her

paint her god;

she was immortal

immoral was her birth

she was unusual

she was the story of forbidden

unknown

devoid of history

Virgil and Mary

together, they birthed

sin

galore

lust

piety

and abduction

graced

to the deity

they created the womb

of falcons and fae.

Izergil

was her name

she roamed with glee

terror was the riddance

mighty and merry

she was the good face

of evil

of devil

of banish

of mortal end.

By Shruti Bhattacharya