and dared to take out craftily
one molten drop from the crystal jar
and didn’t pay heed to his whining and remonstration.
No one would believe if I tell how the jar took its own revenge.
The jar has claws and vampire teeth
and now that one drop has become a ruthless killer.
It is in my blood and saps my cells and I know I will die soon.
It bathes my days in worry and breaks my nights in ache, breeding grief.
Half silhouette, half myth he nudges his way into my soul, haunting ever since.
Now, I have to pay with blood
for giving into a sinful moment’s temptation;
sleep frozen in my opaque eyes; my soul is a lifeless log;
I kneel down for mercy; pray the dark soiled night for some light
but even the serene moon flashes out a dagger and strikes out mercilessly.
Was it a dream?
It must be.