In all walks of life, a shadow of death always looms, an inevitable scare to our hearts. The trader of lives is endlessly working, exchanging imminent glory with deep pain, knowledge with ignorance, life with death; a master of sheer opposites.
Embarked on the confluence of eras of imminent loss,
Of death and merries of rosy bloom of lives,
A stranger peregrinates with gnawing, deviant brows,
Sauntering through the lairs of surreal imaginations.
Meandering through the alleys of sessile glee,
He permutes the glitchy inventory of those who live,
A trader of lives, people fear to denominate him,
He is the plucker of frays among the living and dead.
Dominion of coteries whose breaths have looked for last,
He holds, he wields the power to invaginate a to be mother’s womb,
A life for a life, a spasm of quietus for a shrill cry he is chosen to cast,
Blessing the ephemeral worlds with its balance.