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'Sleep my dear, else Hastar will come for you',
Cried the teary eyed lad, of barely ten and two,
His visage flushed in blood, as he sought refuge,
To save his flesh from his ancestors turned ghoul.

Slinging his never-ending purse of fine gold,
He creeps the labyrinth of his mother’s womb,
Baying in anguish for a tiny morsel of food,
A curse that has brought him eons of gloom.

Not to be worshipped, the first-born demon-god,
Banished from their midst by well-meaning kin of lords,
Found an eager devotee in an ancient family odd,
Who were greedy for gold and lusted for bawds.

They brought him back to life with their orison,
Defying the Gods through layers of generations,
Inviting their rage which became their poison,
Reducing them to repulsive abominations.

Descending into the bowels of the derelict temple,
Through the dilapidated shaft of a solitary well,
Hiding dollops of soft flour in their vessel,
To awaken the hungry monster from his spell.

While he lusted for grain and they for his coins,
At every meeting of this unsavory alliance,
The demon got his food and they, his treasure,
Until they fell prey to the bite of Hastar.

It turned them into hideous living corpses,
Their only mortal escape, through death or slumber,
Consigned to the flames at the hands of their own,
Prior to which, the strain of greed they passed on.

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