Who Will Satiate the Beast?

By Diya Singh

Something otherworldly has slipped through the cracks 

A wicked thing unfurls its wings under the cover of the dark.

Its forked tongue flitting to and fro,

Its eyes - unblinking and narrowed. 

And its mouth - so heavy with greed, 

Foaming and frothing at the ends. 

Ears pricked up to find even the quietest of prey.

A body covered in poison-drenched spikes - 

Cursed to spend an eternity alone,

For even if it tried to be gentle, its body could not atone it. 

This wicked wayward beast knows to smile and plead - 

It furrows its way closer to its prey. 

Sinister, though its intent may be, 

Its bellowing laugh masks its rumbling hunger. 

Prey comes along -

Clean, white bones and red-hot flesh,

Shoulders so taut you can feel the skin stretch,

Pink ears and nose - not meant to be snubbed so deep into the earth. 

How should I eat it? Thought the beast. 

Whole, perhaps? 

No time to stomach its innocence or the width of its youth. 

In bits and pieces? 

Rationed to last me weeks, as it slowly withers away. 

Or should I abandon the idea entirely? 

Should I grab it and place it on the highest of high shelves, 

Letting neither life nor death taste its purity?

And in some perverse way the prey likes it too,

The endless chase, the hunt for something greater and bigger and all consuming 

Something to while the time; 

High-risk, high-reward.

By Diya Singh