The Swing

By Swastika Sheel Srivastava

Every day in the evening,

From my window, I could see

A beautiful tree with just a swing

The tree was large,

And was just as gorgeous,

As the little girl that used to play on the swing

At the exact same time, six-fifteen

I used to get a cup of coffee,

Sit by the window,

And watch her play on the swing

So happily

Days passed by,

And one day I called my mum,

Who used to live not as far away from me

I talked to her for long,

And then told her about the girl

My mum did not say anything for a while,

Then asked me if I wasn’t lying

She told me there is no one who lived nearby,

Let alone a little girl of merely four or five

I was stunned but tried to remain calm.

I told her, someone may have come to live on the nearby farm

On the beautiful hill, beside my house

I told her it was fine and ended the call.

The next few days,

I looked outside my window,

At the little girl on the swing

With my mother’s words revolving in my head.

I tried to convince myself,

That everything was alright.

The following day, something happened,

Something I can’t explain how

I was working late till the evening,

It was nearly ten at night

I went near the window

To look at the moon that shone above

But to my surprise,

The little girl was still playing

Swinging on the swing

Back and forth slowly

I opened my window,

And called out to the girl,

Asked her to go home,

What shocked me was.

I didn’t see her leave,

I didn’t see her disappear

But she was just,

Not there

In the bright moonlight,

All I could see was,

The tree and the empty swing,

Which was still swinging the same,

As it did each day from six-fifteen

To seven-thirty.

By Swastika Sheel Srivastava