The Beast In The Tree

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.)

Want to check out more of my writing?  Click here!

P.S. I've added Disqus comments on here.  Please click on the time-stamp near the end of the post to comment.  (If you don't have a Disqus account, you can still comment as a guest with a custom name.) Thank you!

Finalé

Here is a poem I completed in the morning.  I don't quite understand why I wrote it.

FINALÉ

Long, winding path

Endless—black light

Shows the way

To lost travellers

Who never make it home

Their names are inscribed into a wax tablet;

Some die

Some lose their souls

Some are born again—into darkness.

The destiny of each being

Is written in the stars

That are pasted onto the walls

Of the tunnel that is the dark forest.

Some say that at the end of the tunnel

There lives a beast; he thirsts only for the knowledge

That the lonesome travellers have acquired

In their quest to travel

The road less taken:

For these travellers believe they are wise

And that light comes after darkness

But there are always exceptions to the rule.

Sometimes there is not light

At the end of the tunnel—

But eternal darkness

And that is where those who choose

The dark path must go.

It is their destiny.

It is where all ends.

It is the finalé.

—Vruta Gupte.

(Gee, I never knew I could write dark poems--in both a literal and metaphorical sense.)

See you on the next post!  Cheers!  (As much as is possible after reading that poem.  Just kidding.)






Want to check out more of my writing?  Click here!

P.S. I've added Disqus comments on here.  Please click on the time-stamp near the end of the post to comment.  (If you don't have a Disqus account, you can still comment as a guest with a custom name.) Thank you!