Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty Poet Sonnet

They Are Not Home

Wintry night,they are not home
Street bare, glacial faces roam
Foothill creepy frigid and cold
Gnomes are busy with their gold.

They are not home,hours drip 
Like yellow jackals,owls' trip
Brooks sleep under icy cream
Glow worms shiver in their dream.

They are not home, latches click
Wind pounds the door old and sick
Dismal moon is on the wane
Flies are stuck on windowpane.

They are not home, they never were
The house is built for ghost I swear.

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Bapan Sekh March 9, 2017 at 9:23 PM Wow, quite an impressive form of sonnet, the message is yet more stunning, the sonnet is penned for only that ghost-house, i swear