The Huntsman and his Peregrine

~Shahnaz Islam.

Woods was all his belongings,

the huntsman's only pride and his holy livelihood.

Flew an injured peregrine to his land, one evening,

her quill feathers perfumed of mountains and coastal.

She was somebody or someone of a kind, like peregrine species of grass.

He beholds an earnest affection for this creature;

full of dotes, well up inside her injuries and wounds.

One dawn, when sun rises

and it's scorching rays

erased everything into ashes:

'His love for her,

her faith on him.'

And the woods inscribed-

"Her blood of despair,

her thirst for life,

her soul sheds tears miserably."

But the huntsman owes no mercy to his once beloved peregrine.

Pain was all.

Pain is all.

Pain shall be.

Isn't this Pain, how can it be composed of such teensy four letters word?

Isn't this Pain, more hungry and greed for massive depth inside the broken soul?

Isn't this Pain, standing injustice to the medicine called painkillers doses?

Isn't this Pain, a tryst with life?

With each breathe, those wounds just spices up again!

The huntsman or my beloved man;

His peregrine or I was his beloved (once)!