By Gladwin George
Hunched onto the mirror,
the mosquito stood still -
Was it admiring the coarse
fabric of its carcass?
Or the advent of the gloomy
dusk which is more in tune
with its morbid intent?
The long awaited milieu is set;
it starts its perilous journey
towards the victim -
hovering around for a while
over the succulent mass,
finally it lands on a fertile plain
devoid of hairy skin, and
Deftly raising its proboscis ,
strikes hard into the fleshy
abyss of the hapless sleeper !
It slakes its lips with gore,
the sacrifice is done –
Every night the ritual gets repeated;
the hunter donning the friar`s hood
purging the sins of the prey(cleansing him thus)
while the bleeder gets sated at will!
By Gladwin George
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