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"A grave wherever found preaches a short and pithy sermon to the soul.” Nathaniel Hawthorne
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                                          At the Grave`s Gate

                           On a wintry night with wild woeful winds
                               Howling on trees with a wilful grind,
                          Torrential rain splashing on window panes 
                      And rain water gushing out through the mains,
                            I hastily close the back and front gates
                           And roll on under bed sheets, still awake

                         Soon, with an outage, every light goes out 
                         Ditching me in dead darkness and in doubt
                         With no one in the house but my own self,
                             Trying to converse with my inner self
                               To dispel the spell of my loneliness
                              And usher in the feel of homeliness.

                             Hardly do I close my exhausted eyes
                               That I feel a GHOSTLY figure to rise,
                           Wholly garbed in GOSSAMER silken bright,
                       Hair shrivelled with clenching teeth milky white,
                            Steering towards me like a bird of prey 
                         GROANING with a dreadful voice as it may.


                            Trying to call for help, my voice fails me
                                   In the face of a ghastly enemy,
                               Smitten with a weltering wave of fear
                             I struggle to flee but fall down with tears,
                          “Your GRAVE is ready my friend,” says a voice 
                        “I have come to fetch you; you have no choice.”

                             The ghostly hands grab me by the collar 
                                  And flies me apace as in a hauler;
                           GRIEF-STRICKEN, I pray the Almighty Lord
                              To rescue me and receive me on board,
                                    To deliver me out of the danger,
                              Yet, GODFORSAKEN, I seem a stranger.

                          Braving the darkness, the rains and the winds
                       I`m hauled to the gate of the grave with a swing,
                                 May be my respective turn to await
                               Maybe to rest alongside my soul mate
                                     Until the dead-end of eternity,
                                  In the wide expanse of immensity. 

                             Lying at the doorstep of the grave`s gate
                            I ponder whether I`ve sown seeds of hate,
                           Whether I`ve planted seeds of love too late 
                               What can be written in my present fate,
                               When power is restored, ushering light
                               Dispelling dreary dreams to my delight.
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