Ritam Nag, VIII A (2018 – 19)

As the dying sun breathes his last,
And life bleeds from his heart fast;
As the last rays of day wither and die :-
The forest is torn by the lone wolf’s cry.
Light and darkness ferociously spar,
With trident, and spear, and scimitar!
Whilst from above the lone wolf looks down-
His scarred eyebrows arched in a perpetual frown.

As shadows lengthen over the earth,
And darkness cackles with poisonous mirth;
The forest’s teeth gleam like a thousand sickles,
Glittering in the river of death as it trickles.
As the howling wind cuts a venomous stream,
And malignant spirits rant and scream,
The silver moon breathes a melancholy sigh
Accompanied by the lone wolf’s cry.

When serpentine mists sinuously coil
And the dark pine trees rustle to a boil,
As the night-birds stop their singing,
And only the sound of silence is ringing;
In stygian blackness his steely claws glint,
His rigid composure betraying no expression or hint;
Between the ivory forest gates,
In solitude forever the lone wolf awaits