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.
