Rolled back the years with faint disdain,
Each page greeted by grimace new,
The words were broken, the people unknown,
Lines grew deep, desolation broke through.

The nascent stage was a joy to watch,
Early unions were met with nostalgic pride,
Strung together, words grew in strength and number,
Misunderstood yet unperturbed, hopped along the rocky ride.

Shadows converged and the Devil emerged,
Disguised in the raiment of a rebellious streak,
Naive youth are always eager for change,
They laid down their shields and agreed a surrender meek.

Twisted, enraged and punishing they became,
No thought of consequences on their mind,
The damage was done, the knife was twisted,
And in the far future, their fate would unwind.

Fiery rage grew as the pages crumpled,
Under the vengeful hands of now,
Torn to shreds and burnt to ashes,
The smoke of disillusion hung silently above.

The remnants of the book painted a picture gloomy,
At a curious loss to explain the past,
For everyone needs a Devil in their lives,
To steer the wheel and adjust their mast.

The smoke dissipated, amends were made,
Abrasive thoughts replaced by words benign,
Dipped in humility and kissed by joy,
Struck by wonder, sanity took a shine.

And then the book was opened again,
The inky nib rasped on the paper white,
The Devil lies in the details it said,
A cloudy past will always lead you to light.

Sourabh Bharadwaj
PGP 22