To Night

Tonight

the ticking of the clock is the loudest

because there is no other sound;

each ticking

sounds like falling of grains of time.

I, tucked in my bed, see something lurking

in the kitchen; even the sound of chair being

moved;

the rustling of the calendar makes my heart

flutter like the only leaf on a bald tree.

I move the blanket up to my head

yet I feel somone breathing down my neck,

ready to pounce

but as soon as I take my head out,

there is no

one.

The sudden snore from my grandma

strangely calms me down,

reminding me that I am still on earth

and not transported to the nest of fear,

not a host of ghosts.

Then fleeting laughter

clamours through the hall—

I look that way and it

subsides;

sometimes gathered

courage to confront

but it dies down like going off

of a bulb.

.

..

...

....

the ticking begins

again.