By Akshika Singh
Writhing and twisting, their presence apparent;
With a predatory gaze they wait,
Scheming to strike at weak links.
Coiled in stomachs, they are held down, suppressed,
Hissing their long-suffering legacy.
Tails lashing, they fight their confinements,
But cannot escape the hold;
Soliloquies of being submerged,
Screams of echoing pain crawl up throats.
Incorrect timing, the loss is vast,
Pandora’s box opens for the first time.
Beguiling through the waltz of malice
They drown in their venom,
Senses attacked by guilt.
A wrong move triggered, a fatal game;
Their fangs draw blood. Checkmate.
By Akshika Singh
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