Wolf / written by Zakia Akhtar

Again, she finds herself wandering in the woods of night.
The dark holds wonders beyond belief.
She wears a cloak that is so emerald, so bright.
Tonight she’s on a spree. Become a thief.
The wind whispers and around it dances.
She walks in deeper to the heart. Taking a few chances.

What she doesn’t know is that eyes stare.
As the soil gives out an earthy smell.
Something will catch up to her later and tear.
The trees above. Casting a spell.

He prowls. He hunts.
He plays foul.

He wants her all. He sees her cloak.
The way it floats. Around the oak.
He waits for her to trip and fall. Fall to her knees.
Make her beg. He looks. He sees.

So pretty and perfect.
This face so pure.
Full of allure.
Crowding over her.
The moonlight, obscure.

Will he? Won’t he?
Eyes full to the brim of tears,
fears,
are hers.
Eyes full of bloodlust,
mistrust
are his.
And then – the adrenaline pumps.

She turns a vision before him.
A sudden lump,
In his throat.
Now he’s the hunted and her the hunter.
His future looks grim.

She prowls. She hunts.
She plays foul.

She prowls. A feisty growl. To play foul. Hears his howl.

Bares her teeth. Chases on all four feet.
Animal instinct kicks in.
The wind rushing through her fur,
as she gives chase.
Creating din.

He runs in fear.
He’s losing his pace.
She’s gaining hers.
She growls. Does it with grace.

His whimpers are heard afar.
She leaps. He freezes.
Shines down bright. A star.
This is the end.
He wheezes.
Only her start.

She shivers and turns.
He’s afraid for his heart.
Her look, it burns.
The game, she starts.

She watches his eyes.
His dilated pupils give reflection to her,
disguise.
golden, glowing, grand.
Heart beating like a marching band.

To torture this soul or kill swift.
His eyes plead mercy.
Knowing she is miffed.
She gives him his last wish.
And with a swish.
She feeds. She has her fill.

And in his place.
A green cloak lies.
Covering the trace.
With grace.
Where he lay fallen.
As she prances and dances away.

On a tree. Deep within.
A mark is made.
Of her win.
That game she played.
It a yawn. He, her pawn.
A nail so sharp and lethal used.
A line is drawn.
She mused.
Her hundredth death. That is all.

@ThisIsZakia

3 thoughts on “Wolf / written by Zakia Akhtar

ink is free, so...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s