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The Halloween Conundrum

This is my first attempt at poetry. I have tried to capture the spirit of the festival along with my personal observations on life.

I

the-halloween-conundrum

The day is sunny and ripe

For a babe or two

To a finger-licking ride,

Toffees and cakes

Bake or braise

For the meaty delights and the candle lights.


Leather boots and a cowboy hood

Glitter and glamour

A bloke and his stooge,

Horrors are fun

And terrors aren’t rude,

The highlight of it all

Is the violin and his muse.



II

the-halloween-conundrum

An ascension of the trumpets

And the drums make the mood

The cello makes its entry

On a heightened war with the flute.


The keys and the harps

The roads and the myrrh

The jumping souls and hanging hopes

Dive into the pit

All hands away from real ropes.


Into the blindness

Into the hole

Larping away till the sun falls cold,

Joysticks in hand

No blight done

Except just the minds

Of a few young ones.


A monstrous frown

And a crashing plane

All fronts in

And all guards down.

III

the-halloween-conundrum

As the shrouded sky grows red

The Flash and Batman play

The witches and the werewolves

Waltz away unaware,

The superheroes and meta-humans

Ride along the night

Trick-or-Treating and candy eating

Not one fathoms the dread a red sky could cry.


A simple shadow screams past

But not a soul takes note

Of the crimson sky and its intent

The horror lies behind the brightly lit lanterns,

But none takes care

None but the little angel of nightmare.

IV

the-halloween-conundrum

Grasses grow greener

The sky smiles blue

Cobalt or Prussian

Not a sure thing or two,

All paths confused

All creeds and crew

Life’s but a sombre thing

All dreary and brood.


But a hearty laugh

And a stealthy sword

Can beat the hum drum

Of a gobble who is bored.


Gluttony and greed take a bow

Cause its Halloween time

And all is just wow!


Roger that and Roger this

The children play

On a muddy plain

All stones forgotten

All battles slain.


A high intent of goodness

One fine day

When the lanterns are gold

And the pumpkins grow old.

© 2019 Tiyasha Maitra

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