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“With stimulant knock the moribund mind finds 
the door of desolate life open”- Quote by Poet


On a cloudy day in jaded July 
I trekked the forested countryside under smoky sky.
In an isolated dilapidated bungalow,
the night I had to spend all alone feeling low.

At the dead of night came the rains in a torrent,
on the wings of the turbulent tropical storm of rent,
pounding waves of gusty wind lashed at window pane,
that rattled at each stroke of striking thunder’s sprain.

The lashing lightning flashed on the trembling trees, 
their moist shadows the squall surged to seize,
making mystically myriad of shaking eerie shape
that slithered in the flooded landscape.
	
At the sudden strike of the tearing thunderbolt, 
the flickering lights of the room went out with a jolt.
In the candle light the darkness became even more 
creepy as I heard a knock on the cracked wooden door.

I opened it with shaking hands, found no one there,
but for the slant arrows of rain piercing the dark air.
The nagging knock repeated several times in a spree, 
sending swells of stifling shiver through me. 

I was gripped by the frenzied fear of the unknown, 
while the whole night I nursed the goosebump alone 
with peg after peg of perky whisky on the rock, 	
my strained sense eased as my head felt the knock.

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