poet

You the soul, Keeps running from light to dark to light In the timeless abyss and call it million decades, Not aware why. Ah from semen to supreme, Sex to sidh, Tiresome and still running, Call it life or not, All these are merely, For you don't need to be the part of his tandav Nor he is...

With power in hand, he sculpted a realm, but his artistry was a canvas of cruelty, painting him the darkest shade of arrogance.