Today I met the dark lord
Down the dark alleys of grief.
He told me his name was Yama
And he was a messenger of mischief.
I walked with him few paces – yeah -
As I walked in his shadows today.
He spoke to me of life and death
And the pleasure he gets when one wears the thorns’ wreath.
He said he hates those who walk
Hale and hearty – with springing steps,
Unmindful of those without legs
Or those who lie patiently – bedridden.
He says sometimes you need a reminder…
A subtle way to remind you to care.
A pinch here and a poke there
To appreciate those less privileged yet dear.
Suddenly he whirled at me.
Ire in his flashing eyes I could see…
He saw I didn’t really get what he said.
The way he looked filled me with dread…
That was when consciousness returned,
Along with it came an anguish so intense…
It ripped me off, it tore me apart…
The return of pain comes at the end of every start.
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