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stalked by chronological narration

chased by master plots

haunted by the usual suspects

the characters of high brow prose

damsels in disress

and their cohorts

thorn apart by the cruel world

due sacrifices of the righteous people

of whom  nothing less is expected

ever since the opening sentence

I run away from metamorphs,

barewolfs

and their maturation

from  predictable fables of

strong lions’ and cunning foxes’

irreversible transformations

bypassing allegories and metaphors

I hide

from conventional morals of the story

in the variable curses

of magical conversing

in  unevenly  ­rhymed verses

L.R.S.

 

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