Womb of Horror
by Suryendu Chaudhury
It isn't like Pennywise
It's neither worth a penny,
Nor is it really wise.
It comes and devours fear
Even in laughter it draws near,
It rejects the flesh and bones
It bites and chews the heart,
Enjoying the aroma of fresh blood.
No, please don't confuse it
With the famed Transylvanian Count,
It is particularly greedy good-doers
That it relishes the most.
Be it the night or sunny day,
It can come along the way,
It has no power that seems worth,
Only the typically powerful canines
And the lovely sharp-edged claws.
It looks quite young and wrinkled
It is not a beast at all,
It is not against any religion
It neither revolts nor shouts
Like a bunch of hoodlums on the street,
It prefers to walk but not on feet.
If it is hungry for a wholesome heart,
It may tear the ventricles with joy,
When it uses the canines to play
It marks the face with a faceless fun.
Who fears it always goes up to it?
Everyone does, without any clue
It never reeks of harm; it just harms you,
Pinning the prey down onto the air,
With nowhere to run or hide,
It hears the beating drums
And takes the valued victim for a ride.
It is not necessarily huge, just colossal,
Swallowing the food gives it nothing
Biting, biting, biting and chewing and chewing,
It indulges in grandiose gruesome grossness.
It takes control of your meaty mind,
Its eyes don't really glow in the dark,
It never utters a wail, nor does it leave any mark,
It whets its fangs, the delicate canines
It always stays in the laps of time,
If you expect it in a forlorn mansion,
Or you expect it on a deserted street,
And even if beside a cursed burial ground,
You haven't understood it in the least.
It thrives on power drawn from life,
The ignition of hopes reignites its flame;
The eyes bathe in the furnace of heat,
It never knows the reason to retreat.
Puerile or celestial, it doesn't differentiate
Its fangs go very deep inside the soul,
Until the sap they satiate.
It is not a monster to be afraid of the Divine;
It is a means to connect to the heart!
Don't get confounded and try to wage a war,
It cannot be killed as it lives with death
And it dies laughing with jokes on vitality,
It emerges not from the walls nor underneath,
It appears from within, it appears within,
Splattering the blood-soaked veins and arteries,
It concentrates only on the heartwarming feast.
The passionate torture of the victim,
Leads to a laughter louder than deafening silence,
It slaughters, rather tears up in peace, not violence.
So, the heart of the matter remains unsafe;
It can come upon at its own pace,
Nowhere to hide, nowhere to run,
It's not even a matter of time, and then, it's done.
There are ample traces to track it down,
And then look lost with a foolish frown,
Where is it? Just tell me where it goes?
It neither comes nor it goes; it stays,
Like it has ever been, beyond the origin.
Questions again arise, how did it come to being?
Even the dear dead has no idea what it has seen,
It never cried in birth, it was never born,
And yet it stays bright as the sunlight morn,
If you close your eyes, it shall not cease,
From the veils it shall rise, forcing you to see,
For it nothing matters, except its own wonderful will;
It never celebrates more than a thousand times
The inevitability of its precious skill.
What can you do to fight it back?
What can you do to save your dear life?
There's no point in matching with it,
A fight can never take place despite all efforts
Neither can you save yourself if it wants such a thing,
No one talks about it; they all know it
Just a silly person, I convey to all
The ways in which it confronts you and me,
Until only it is that which remains after its tyranny.
So be prepared, my friend, although it’s no use,
Still the painful may seem a bit expected,
The breaking, the blood, the bites,
All shall feel like you have seen it way before,
Nothing evil shall settle upon your soul,
As it shall not be there to express it anymore,
Disruption shall unmake the ultimate core.
***
Suryendu Chaudhury, is an educator and poet based in Kolkata. Writing under the pen name Silly Poet, he specializes in verse that balances technical structure with intertextual depth. His work is informed by a deep engagement with classical literature and the rhythmic nuances of the English language. He is interested in Gothic fiction high intensity crime thrillers and tales of macabre.
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