The Predator

By Vaishavi Watwe

It was almost blowing a gale,

With blood on his mouth,

He was walking alone around in a dwale.

He let the feeling of rubatosis slip in,

Looking up at the moon,

He was scared of what he was within.

He shouldn't be the one to feel this way,

Claws soaked in blood,

Does he even have a right to pray?

In choked desolation he gave a desperate howl,

"Am I a monster?"

With this thought he himself was afoul.

What did he dread more-

An echo or an answer,

Any one of the two he was still going to abhor.

By Vaishavi Watwe