Schrardenfreude Poem by Somendra Gaur

The hungry smiling werewolf,
Looking for Aconite,
Walking with heavy legs,
Hands shivering,
Lips quivering,
Shoulders looking like they're being pulled back,
Walking with hands in his pocket,
And rolled sleeves,
As if he's marking the zones.
Prevaricating around;

The ogre's inside,
Performing summersaults;

Noting down every detail,
Hoodwinked;

The Anti-vervain huntsman,
The ultimate swordsman leading his clan,
The first and the last of his cult,
Training himself how this needs to be dealt.

Rhapsodies of bloodbath playing in head,
Floating publicly
Diving alone.
The anger on his own self is turning into detestation;

Silently stringing moves which are sublime,
Waiting to whisper:
IT'S TIME.