The Symphony Of The Dark

By Arpan Gupta

A strong wind blew through the meadow,

Whistling through a flower.

Far across the sky,

Rages a dark shower.

The sun dwindling upon the horizon,

Beneath a blue sky,

Along the shore a few steps away,

Stood a small hut, basking in the heat too shy.

A lake, clear like glass,

Stretched across the field.

Besides it stood trees: yellow, red and green,

With birds of dark, and wails of need.

The silence deepens, the calm of the storm,

The wait for the fury that comes.

The whistle has stopped the cold seeps through,

The drips of the rain, the melancholy hum.

In the pour, a mist of grey,

A figure of night.

It's ebony maw, the crimson hands,

Glitter to fright.

In its hand the scythe of sorrow,

The screams of terror which brings.

The teak wood door of the hut soaked in pain,

The hand reaches out, a knock then rings...

By Arpan Gupta