The Death Incarnate

By Aditi Mehendale

The life breathes its last,

when the death approaches the soul

and creeps in; slithers like a serpent dark.

Its bloody hands choking the life to the end.

It is cold penetrating through the soul.

Inauspiciously, ends all the throbbing and

excruciating pain ruthlessly.

Attired in a cloak of shadow black,

slays life brutally;

wrapping the soul with its shadow cruel;

only then the life gives up

and all the hope dies away,

with the birth of the demise;

the demise that satiates its thirst,

when the deceased life lies in peace.

By Aditi Mehendale