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you never see a ghost
except inside your fear
what you see at most
is an apparition unclear.

flickering lantern lights
casting shadows on the wall
were your childhood frights
in the half lit nightly lull.

you couldn't tell them lies
tales that grandma spun
glowworms were ghosts' eyes
that closed with morning sun.

they made a place in your head
broke all your resolves weak
eerie patterns moonlight made
wind's howls in bamboo's creak.

when the nights came
clock ticks gave a scare
you had to believe in them
you knew they were there.

are they now all dead
fantasy of child's mind
monsters below bed
footsteps heard behind?

some fears you still own
strangely hold them firm
and when you are alone
seek grandma's safety arm!
In the village today is one more widow.

Only last night
on the warm love bed
was smudged her sindoor
all over forehead!


Her skin is still raw with his claw,

his neck fell today to the jungle's law.
People living in the fringe of the Sundarbans go inside the forest to hunt for honey, fish and *****, putting them at risk for a tiger attack. In almost every village there is a man or woman commonly referred to as a " Tiger Widow".
 Jun 2015 Archita
Sourodeep
The color of a thing you see
is just your way to interpret how it might be
 Jun 2015 Archita
Sourodeep
I lie down on the bed
with a new novel on my lap
rain splattering over the shed
page by page excitement has me, grasped

I have the candle by my side
for the warmth and the light
but the munchies got over
biting my nails in the story's *crunch
I love the evenings of monsoon in the company of a novel and yeah, a bit of snacks too.
 Jun 2015 Archita
Àŧùl
Leave
 Jun 2015 Archita
Àŧùl
Take a leave from regular life,
Go have some genuine fun,
Play the enjoyment fife,
Eat with a twist the same old bun.
A conventional 'ab, ab' rhyme scheme.

My HP Poem #884
©Atul Kaushal
the orb of light is my destiny.

in my dark valley
escape is a blind flight
on the moonless night

when heavy lies the fog on wing
neath misty sky crickets sing
beckons me the halogen

come embrace forget pain.

be afraid not of the one recourse
come what may fly to the source
soak in the fire of the drizzled night
life is precious with death on sight.


caught in wire stuck on fence
dying this night makes only sense
i fall like rains and at last free

the orb of light is my destiny.
Between September and November each year, Jatinga, a village on the Halflong Ridge, Assam, India, sees the unique and as yet not fully explained phenomenon of birds "committing suicide" at nights that are foggy and moonless. They fly to the light, do not try to escape and are often killed by villagers.
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