The Moth

My desires reeked, 

With a contemptuous lack,

Of self-control,

With no exception to anyone,

In particular.

All of them, companions,

Of my lonely hours.

When the muffled foot dance,

Of the midnight hour came,

My foul-smelling companion awoke, 

And clutching the pal, 

With my naked hands,

I tiptoed towards my bedroom. 

Lights out,

One by one.

The shroud of darkness,

Invaded the corridors of light,

On short notice,

Stepping in, with a proud gait.

Stepping into my bed,

Nervous, about the sinning,

Reeking, companion of darkness,

I stumbled into nudity,

Ruthlessly pushing away,

The maidens of chastity,

Hearing nothing except my,

Pumping, pushing, humble heart,

And a distant song of longing,

For company, unlike-

The one I was involved with,

Presently, the comfy play,

In the arena of imagination.

As the barometer of longing,

Thumbed its scales upward,

With my barren hands,

I played a feral tune on my flesh,

A primitive rhythm that stupefied,

The tender ligaments,

Of my primal consciousness.

More clearly, the longing that I felt, 

Made visible in the shallowness of my breath,

And in the trance,

Inside my closed eyelids.

In a moment, as I enclosed,

Myself in this surreal palace,

Of intoxicating desire,

A flapping of wings played,

Ominous a tune outside,

A fantasmagoria entered,

Through the crack underneath the door,

And lit a fire of fear,

Inside the darkened room.

Entomophobia, a subtle fear,

Of the tiny guests of nature,

Clutched hard on my mind. 

A moth, it was,

I told my heart,

Which shivered in answer,

While I said a prayer.

In a moment’s time, 

Lights came in, one by one,

With due diligence, as I endeavored.

Like a flash of lightning,

On my face, with a sudden gust,

The moth with its wings, 

A sudden flapping move, made. 

I stumbled with my nakedness,

Back into the world of modesty,

Rounding the bed in haste,

Clutching the corners of my chastity,

Flung the door open and out,

To the open living room, I rushed.

To anyone it may sound silly care,

For me with the phobia, it was,

A doom marooned on an island of fear.

As the heart gave way to beating fast,

The moment’s heat slowly did pass,

A cool breeze of air filled my lungs,

As I drank the peace of the night,

Calm outside. 

A silence presided the rooms, 

As I sat on the chair waiting for ways,

In which to drive the moth out,

Of the house’s rooms and halls.

Thinking, a newspaper would do the job,

I peeped inside the room,

With a bundle of old,

Dusty newspaper in hand,

And found nothing but the sterile,

Old tube light burning nauseously,

And the lonely bed,

Waiting for my body. 

Like a flash of lightning,

The shock of the wings,

Burned on my face again,

Etching a realization upon my mind,

That out the maze of reeking desire,

Had the moth led me today.

A narrow escape, I thought to myself,

A welcome relief, 

I consoled my conscience. 

The moth was the guardian,

Of the night when,

I had forgotten to fight. 

With the bridles of mind,

Now in hand, I slipped into,

The land of sleep,

With thoughts of content, 

And a divine fragrance in mind.