A paradox of night and flame,
A being fierce, devoid of name.
You tread on dreams, both light and dire,
A spirit forged of anger and fire.

A demon's wrath, a god’s command,
A fate that bends beneath your hand,
A stare as if it would burn one’s might,
Nobody dares, it's their only fright.

You walk where angels fear to tread,
Where hearts are torn, where dreams are bled,
Your daemonic charm—a spell, a snare,
A presence felt too vast to bear.

Your laugh—a blade, a siren's call,
A net that snares, ensnares us all,
Your touch—electric, wild, intense,
Both chaos born and consequence.

A shadow moves, a silent king,
No crown of gold, just power's sting.
The streets are veins, the blood runs deep,
Each secret held, a vow to keep.

Yet beneath the dark, a heart may stir,
A longing for a life once pure.
But the weight of choices, sharp as blades,
Chains the soul in its endless shades.
In this domain, there’s no escape,
The shadows shape the man, the fate.
And as the dawn begins to rise,
The daemon fades but never dies.

~ Dhriti P Malkan