Visitations

Uncle Owl with wizened head
Stared long and hard with abyss eyes,
Dark ’twas – the hour of the dead,
As dew dripped below fireflies,
Quiet answered to crickets’ cries.

Creak of a door broke it all,
Mist quivered to yellowy gleams-
Leaves rustled beneath the footfall,
That slid along the earthy seams,
Clambering up the wooden beams.

Uncle Owl with abyss eyes
Spied stoic as a stone each night
What the night’s forces did reprise,
Without fail, to moans of delight
And chuckles bursting from inside.

‘Tis been the story all along,
The strange visitations meanwhile,
Have turned his hair grey since long,
But what transpires in truth inside
Has left him none the less senile.

One gunshot ended it all,
Uncle Owl fell limp to the ground;
There he lay right at the footfall,
With frozen image on eyes round-
Of baby to Mother firmly bound.

©Asiman Panda 2010