Love or Confinement ?

Beneath the ashen veil where shadows sigh,  

A tale unfolds beneath a dim-lit sky.  

The air, thick with paradox, clings to the night,  

A pact unspoken, bound by ancient rite.  

In realms unseen by mortal gaze,  

Where rivers whisper and shadows blaze,  

There sat a king, not cold, not cruel,  

But carved by time, both sword and tool.  

Persephone wandered, her steps unsure,  

A goddess of spring, tender and pure.  

Drawn to the dark, not by chains nor call,  

But by a force she couldn't name at all.  

Hades, they called him, Lord of the Dead,  

But pain lingered where darkness bred.  

Not merely a ruler, not merely a shade,  

But a soul who longed for the light to invade.  

The pomegranate glistened, a fruit of blood,  

An offering made to fate’s cruel flood.  

Was it her hand, her choice, her will,  

Or his unseen tether that held her still?  

She felt a warmth for the lord of the shade,  

A fire in darkness her heart obeyed.  

Yet doubt like roots began to entwine,  

Was it her choice, or fate’s cruel design?  

Was it love that bloomed in the endless night,  

A tender bond in the absence of light?  

Or a fragile soul reshaped by despair,  

Finding solace in chains she was forced to wear?

He bore the weight of lives unending,  

A solitary throne, forever suspending.  

Each soul a story, each tale a plea,  

A kingdom of silence, a kingdom of key.  

Above, Demeter’s wails split the air,  

The Earth grew barren beneath her despair.  

The world, a mirror of her grief and pain,  

As seasons twisted under love’s disdain.  

Yet deep within, beneath the gloom,  

A seed lay dormant, waiting to bloom.  

A yearning not for power, nor fear’s acclaim,  

But for love’s warmth to whisper his name.  

And Persephone—was she lost or found?  

Did love root her, or chains confound?  

The seeds consumed, the balance torn,  

A goddess reborn, yet forever worn.  

And so, beneath the eternal stone,  

Where shadows sigh and souls atone,  

A fateful thread began to weave,  

When spring would visit the halls of grief.  

Two souls entwined in paradox deep,  

A love that binds, a love that weeps.  

Was it freedom they sought, or did freedom die,  

Beneath the ashen veil where shadows sigh?

-Bhavya Dakavaram