Our optional prompt for the day takes its cue from Prelutsky’s poem, as well as this poem by Dean Young, called “Belief in Magic.” Today, the challenge is to write a poem about something mysterious and spooky! Your poem could be about something that is mysterious and spooky in a bad way (like a witch), or mysterious and spooky in a good way (possibly also like a witch? It depends on the witch, I guess!) Or just the everyday, mysterious, spooky quality of being alive.
Though, I hadn’t expected to quill a tale, but when I sat down to write, I realised I quite enjoyed writing for this prompt. Here’s my mysterious tale 🙂
A mysterious train journey As the clock struck twelve, the train came to a halt It was a full moon night… I kept my book aside to ascertain the stop, ‘The autobiography of a dead witch’, the title of my book read I looked around but no signpost I found, It didn’t seem like a regular station Oh! We had stopped somewhere in the middle A graveyard was all; I could spot from my window Tall banyan trees fenced the place with its aerial roots, Some eerie sound, of someone racing on rustling leaves, Or was it the screeching of bats or maybe a scream I heard, And suddenly, the echo of silence was all I could hear… But then, I assume, some creatures I saw, hanging from trees, How could it be, I must be hallucinating… But a look at the book and the place with a ghoulish look A chill ran down my spine The gory tales that my grandma told me, In my head entwined Ghosts and witches invoking some spirits, Monstrosity visible on the sinister face of the beast, All stories did rounds in front of my eyes. Just then, A creaking sound I heard, like a door opened… But where was the door? Gwuf, gwuf, gwuf… The sound of approaching footsteps To say, ‘I was afraid,’ would be an understatement, Wraithlike death in a train, by spells cast by a witch… That wasn’t the kind of end, I had ever imagined Frighteningly, I squeezed my eyes, awaiting something ominous And was shuddered by a touch Chugga chugga chugga… Startled by the sound of the moving train, I dauntingly opened my eyes There was no one around… A bunch of black roses on my book I found ‘The sorcery of black roses,’ wasn’t that the page I had paused? I quavered at the thought At bay from the book, I sat for hours Until I alighted at the next stop Since that day, I refrain from spooky tales And beautiful poetry, is all I crave Grateful for being alive, every night I pray For mulling over that night, chills my bones even today! ©Vandana Bhasin 13.04.2019
Picture Courtesy: Google