Terminal Gate

Frightening silence pervaded Swelling of ground due to mounds here and there A tree adjacent the gate with a GHOSTLY stature Unfurling a dark blanket by its broad canopy Even birds don’t like to perch in the GODFORSAKEN place. Except the bulging- eyed owl A silent witness for GRIEF-STRICKEN hearts The fibre art of GOSSAMER aglow in the sunlight Floating gently like sailcloth On the gates, they’re like murals of pinwheel flowers. No gusts or downpours can annihilate it. The gates are half-shut. When they are fully opened, Macabre music of GROANING erupts from the coarsened hinges. Scent of geosmin from a freshly dug GRAVE The tired soul along with the retired corpse Comes again through the terminal gate.