Hannibal

It isn’t murder, it is art
Bathed him in his own blood
How beautiful it is
To begin things from the start
Bloody, we were born
From the mother’s womb
Bloody, we’ll go back
To the star-crossed tomb
Honoring every part of him
Honored my soul
My guests will lavish
His viscera
For days to come
Served with spices, unknown.

© Darshana Mehta