Sunday, 18 May 2014

The Beast In The Tree


I once went for a walk
Along the cobblestone path
That generations past had not dared to traverse
For fear of being eaten by a beast
Who, it was said, screamed at night
The most pitiful sounds
That would make even lions cower in its presence.
The beast, they said, it lived in the hollow of the Great Big Birch Tree
It had built a door at the opening, and at night
It would push the door—and the door would make
A terrifyingly shrill squeaking sound.
But I, I was brave
And so I went along the cobblestone path
I walked, and I walked
I stopped, and then I walked some more—
And what did I see?
I saw a very lonely tree;
And then the wind rustled through its leaves
I thought the tree was screaming and then
I looked up, petrified.  I saw nothing.
I waited
And waited
Till it became dark and the sun would shine no more;
I heard the squeak—of the beast’s door, I presumed—
And shuddered in terror.
When I finally felt brave enough
To look up, I did.
And I saw an owl
Making all the squeaking noises
….And I fled.

~Vruta Gupte.

(I tweaked a poem I wrote last year to match the 'dark yet hopeful' tone of the idea I had for the poem.  I think I wrote it as a metaphor for when a person is about to realize their dream, having conquered all other obstacles, but then turns back at the last moment for fear of discovering something they had always known about in the back of their mind: their greatness.  

It's a little negative, but I think there's no point editing it now--it's beautiful as it is, and says what I need it to say.)

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~ migration.

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