Night Dwellers

Night Dwellers

We sit by the flickering flame of a log fire.
Unseen specters cry in the voiceless air stream.
Our nerves trapeze moves like walking the high wire.
The waning moon doesn’t assure its light.
The purple sky is as silent as the dead.
In its bosom, the phantom stars sparkle with fright.
The jack-o’-lantern burns bright,
the flame within spews comfort,
lighting the way for those not in sight.
Starting at the shadowy boughs--
buoyant and agile--their dim and gloomy
strands raise our anxious brows.
Conspiring with spirits they align
to run a chill down our spines innumerable times,
all ciphers of evil intertwine.
Impious beings toil around
with unheard cries of grief and delight;
an unrestrained night broods in the background.
We sense a witch’s desolate wail--
our faces ashen, whispers mute, pulses beat--
roaming through the night, like a flitting tempestuous gale.
Prickly thoughts arise in an untamed multitude,
while they wander through the speechless night,
as if a muffled sonorous moan subdued.
Living the days long departed,
they set foot on earth filled with memories
of pleasures long forgotten, when curious eyes darted.
Surrounding tombs and cemeteries riven,
in the ruins are the souls assembled;
with every swish, our hairs straighten.
Flaunting their ominous growls,
fondness lingers here and there,
the breeze strengthens their crawls.
A whirlwind with a frosty spike rises inside tight,
our sickened selves trespass our calm;
beware says the wind, for it’s the Halloween night. 

Author: Sreelekha Chatterjee

Photo: Nathan Anderson