Le brouillard foncé

Soufflant avec un vent mauvais 

Les cœurs arraché 

Jamais revenue 


La brume opaque 

Descendante avec les griffes 

Fouets prends chaque 

Boit vos sang frais 


La bueé 

Tiré vous vers la bas 


Vos jeune peau

Dark Fog

Blowing with an ill wind

Hearts snatched

Never returned


Opaque mist

Descending with claws

Each whip takes

Drinks your fresh blood



Pulls you down


Your young skin

© 2020 Rahaman Writing

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Still unsure if you should subscribe? Here's an excerpt from this newsletter's ongoing series:

"Approaching the docks, we heard the violent smashing of wood and the clanging of metal being pounded through the cold veil of white mist that hung in the air by the coast. With a sudden gust, the pale haze cleared to reveal a beast from the brine like none I had seen before or after my time on Kioshell Island. It was roughly the same size as the fishing ship that had ferried me here and was in the process of tearing apart a vessel of similar proportions with a cold fury, pausing only to fling away huge bits of debris or adjust the monstrous maw that was its shell: the living, partially decomposed head of a sky serpent.."