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As a young four- to five-year-old child,
My wish to meet ghosts grew eerie and wild.
We lived a mile from a riverbed’s shore,
Where tales of witches and spirits galore,
Roamed through the night in the darkness, compiled.

By day, vultures circled in the sky,
Snatching at food, as they swooped low and high.
I heard they sometimes took children away,
But the fear of ghosts at night held more sway,
The thought of their presence made me ask why.

On full moon nights, tales would come alive,
Ghosts on palm trees when the clock struck five.
I stayed awake, my eyes wide with dread,
Saw moonlit figures with drinks overhead,
A toddy beer fest where spirits would thrive.

Still curious, I watched the mirror late,
Hoping to glimpse a ghostly figure's fate.
For months I waited till sleep took its toll,
Then shrieked one night as fear grabbed my soul,
I fainted, convinced by what I did state.

When I awoke, I told them my fright,
I’d seen the ghost appear in the night.
By morning the mirror was taken away,
With neem and salt for ghosts in dismay—
Yet, deep in my heart, the fear still took flight.

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