13th July, 2020.
Eleven gongs on the grandfather clock,
Crickets chirping round the tangled block,
Hooting owls calling upon their young,
In the solace of the night, my mother sung.
Towering trees and coconut groves,
And howling winds from the nearby shores,
Rain pattering against the gabled roof,
All these things made it seem aloof.
Lying on the bed adjoining the window sill,
Winds turned cold from the night's chill,
My curious eyes fixed upon this frog,
Away from the puddle, safe on a log.
At the very moment I felt so secure,
Unlike the poor frog who seemed so unsure,
Here I lay inside blankets so warm,
And a reassuring cuddle of my mother's arm.
An incessant fear of the dark and it allies,
A notion of devil lurking with its eyes,
This unsettling nature, nights always own,
Which made it difficult to sleep alone.
Everything was black, the walls, the room,
And some unknown things seemed to loom,
Imagining scenarios in head all the while,
Made my mom the lone warrior in the aisle.
Gradually my thoughts, begin to deplete,
My attention shifting to my heart beat,
The clock's ticking could be heard so clear,
I preferred staying awake than to fight my fear.
That's the thing about childhood days,
When darkness seemed to more than just gaze,
It's a vulnerability when I cannot see,
The demons from which I could flee.
Disturbed sleep and constant fright,
Somehow I would pass through the night,
Then the early birds would sing their song,
My heart would lighten up after long,
My head so free, my toes unshroud,
Victory at last, my tiny heart proud,
Somewhere now in my dreams so deep,
I'd kiss the birds who put me to sleep.
~ Neeraj Giri © ~
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T.C. Poetry
الشعرLet's all take a moment to look around us. Breathe. Widen those senses. And absorb every little feeling out there. Incomprehensible. That's the veracity of the things existing around us and including our own. We'll try to fathom everything. There's...
