The story revolves around a cook, a rabbit and me.
The story would etch a mark of karmic retaliation in me.
Morals and lessons of the night would impact me and change
like the wandering questions that fly off the grid and out of range.
A far little home-stay out of the buzz of the mainstream lots,
this quaint green town was adorned with numerous downstream spots.
The ride to the place was crooked and mystical with a heavenly twist
a drop of fear as unseen sweat births itself from the anxious blindness of the mist.
The caretaker told me that he would cook for the night
belittling my desire to ride back to the town with no presence of light.
He asked me if I had a suggestion for dinner in mind,
I told him that I would love a rabbit curry with a roti so plain.
He assured me that he would cook one if I caught it and killed,
as the guilt of slitting its throat is too much to take in at the end of the day.
He also told me that a rabbit would put its hands together and pray
when preyed on and that it sent down shivers on his spine brutal and chilled.
I had to ride out later that night to receive my friends,
who were drained that the ride to the lost place never really ends.
Weirdness carried on as a friend even mistook me for a fool in disguise,
when he passed me on the road in a speed that was mean and unwise.
Bringing them back in the rough terrain roads
with no signs of light but squirming of toads.
Riding my ruby little fast upfront
I witnessed the learning curve of life.
Bent a little too dangerously in the pebbled up path
a rabbit came out and bubbled up the wrath.
His eyes so frightened was illuminated with the beam
of light that came out of the headlamps as the lost river stream.
I hope he did not notice my scared and frightened pair
as I stamped on the break with no sense but despair.
Alas I’m down and my lights are finally gone
the dizzy daze of my fall made me laugh at once.
Friends so worried asked if I’m okay and not gone mad,
I told them I had a story to tell on the insect-filled shack.
Cloning Out Souls 