A Woman of Substance

She eyed the canvas as she smiled,

Fame and fortune found their child.

She furiously dabbled in her art.

And so the squabbles did start.

She put them to rest,

Without a word, without a protest.

Years went by, what did she do?

Life had painted her black and blue.

A woman of substance, was she still?

Was life her captor or her will?

The steam from the hot water rose,

Was this the life that she once chose?

She watched the water go crimson,

Faintly, she heard the voice of reason.

The crimson hues stroked her fire,

Could she still escape the mire?

Her spirit rekindled,

Her fears soon dwindled.

The embers of hope did light,

When she walked out that night.

That night, the snow surely did melt,

For her fire, it must have felt.

She tread on, tenacious all the while,

Her journey sure did make her smile.

She mused over her theme,

Seasoning her palette and her dream.

She joined the soiree, she began to paint.

Long lost friends, a canvas sans restraint.

About the post: This poem can be interpreted in many ways. I personally feel that it represents a woman of substance, one who not only one who stands up for herself but who also stands tall even after she has taken a fall, it is about second chances. A woman of substance will keep trying to achieve her dream, whatever that may be and it is important for all women to really let themselves dream, be a little selfish-to be what she wants to be, to do what makes her happy. I wrote this for a women's poetry meet recently.

Monsoon & Autumn Haiku

Awake or dreaming  ,   

The summery night burned her-

Gone was he.

Eyes met and they waved-

The rain thrashed,

Yet they stayed.

 I run as the sky turns gray, 

A croak and a squeal, 

We both jump away .

The squirrel and its brother 

Race each other .

Autumn wins as leaves wither .

The trees grow tan  

As they race-

Squirrels raid my garden terrace.

Her tail wags 

As she greets the boy 

And steals his wet sock, her pet ploy. 

It rains and turns dark- 

Flash and a crack, 

It leaves its mark .

About the post: My first attempts at Haiku. This was for a competition which I didn't win but atleast I learnt a tad bit about Haiku. Must keep practising :)

Boggled

A young girl sat by the brook,

She enjoyed the pages of her book.

She was at peace until it began to croak

"Ribbid Ribbid, Ribbid Ribbid", it spoke.

Her focus lost, she looked about,

She found the frog, sitting stout.

She walked closer, "Shoo Shoo!

Unless you want to be caught for a stew!",

She yelled as she tried to shush it,

"Ribbid Ribbid", it went, it would not quit.

Much to her surprise she saw it cry,

"Serves me right.", it let out a sigh.

"You can talk?", the girl shook her head,

"Either that or you are mad.", it said.

"Why do you cry?", she asked the frog.

She went closer and sat on a nearby log.

"My brother has been taken by the warlock.

He is worse than the fiery hawk."

The girl cupped her hands in the brook,

Some water to the frog she took.

"Go on, you'll feel better. Have a drink.",

She urged it as the frog seemed to blink,

It closed its eyes as its long tongue lapped

The water from her hands it tapped.

She giggled as it tickled her a lot,

It opened its eyes and resumed its squat.

"My brother, Our King is forever lost,

For helping others, we paid the cost.

He needed to distract the warlock,

So he decided to talk.

Sitting on the pile of trapped frogs,

Who were crying for help in the bogs.

The evil warlock spared not even one,

A web around them had been spun.

His magic was too hard to break,

When I tried to help, he unleashed a snake.

I could do nothing, I had to retreat.

Why does he trap us when he has plenty to eat?",

The frog broke down and choked on tears,

The young girl could not believe her ears.

Could it be that the warlock was a catcher of fish?

Like the one who sells that famous dish.

Frog legs, yes, that's what he calls it,

She felt a sting, her head seemed to split.

She closed her eyes and held her head,

She woke up to find herself near her bed.

"Ribbid Ribbid", she heard and ran to it,

"I'll make this right, just give me a bit.",

She said to her pet frog and woke her father.

"What happened child, what is the matter?

She made him vow not to fish in the bogs,

And next day, to return the King of the Frogs.

"And promise me never to use your fishing hook,

To strike at them if you see them near the brook.

Swear to me that you'll help me save them all,

Their hearts are big though they be small."

About the post: I had written this poem for a really great initiative called "Save the Frogs". You can check out their website and spread the word if you like. Its definitely worth a look.

www.savethefrogs.com/threats/index.html

Ameera's Adventure

Ameera rolled her sleeves as her cape swayed,

She moved towards the giant cave to commence her raid.

There was no other way or means of reclaiming her Queen's domain,

The monsters turned on her at once, but she annihilated them with much strain.

She tripped and faltered, a scratch here, a gash there,

But she egged on further, in the monsters' lair.

Battered, bruised and strained by the onslaught,

She made her way out as she valiantly fought.

She gulped the fresh air and steadied herself

Not long before she was intercepted by a dark elf.

It studied her for a long time.

Ameera was helpless, she found herself engulfed by grime.

Dark elves, they were hard to evade

But this was not Ameera's first raid.

She wrapped her cape around herself tighter, till it became a shell.

The dark elf made attempts to break her will,

It summoned waves of grime but Ameera stayed still.

Vexed and humiliated, the dark elf finally withdrew.

Ameera emerged from her shell, her next duty in clear view.

She eyed the ominous hill of the dead.

It was a wasteland of corpses where one must carefully tread.

Ameera drew her sword and cleared her path.

They tried to grab her and strike her with all their wrath.

Ameera had to battle these vengeful vines.

She soldiered on and drove them to hell's confines.

Finally, she stood atop the hill, beaming with pride.

Conquered again, she celebrated with her arms open wide.

"Ameera! What do you think you are doing?

What if you fall?! I don't need any trouble brewing!"

Ameera snapped out to reality and her shoulders sank.

"Sorry Auntiji", she uttered, her expression now blank.

As Ameera made her way down the kitchen slab

The mistress inspected Ameera's work, she waddled around with her flab.

"The cupboard better be spotless, cleared of the insects and cobwebs."

Ameera nodded away, her glory and pride ebbs.

"The bed better be rid of the monsters underneath,

Bhaiiyya complains of chattering teeth.

Better set the rat traps right away.

You hear me?! Or still dreaming and been led astray??"

About the poem:

I wrote this poem for a poetry competition a few months back.

The poem describes the arduous daily routine of a maid servant, who is a young girl. She is an imaginative girl who works as per her Mistress’ wishes. Most of the poem has elements that we’ve come across in person or seen or read in news. This poem tries to explore this young girl’s thoughts and how she goes about her daily routine-dusting, cleaning, avoiding the “evil” eye of the Mistress’ son.

The Townfool and the Leshy

The Image is from Wikipedia-"The Leshy" by Ivan Bilibin, 1906.

The town fool took refuge in the forest,

He stifled his laugh and thumped his chest.

He looked behind, not a man was in sight,

He pranced about the trees like a forest sprite.

He skipped and sang among the trees,

He enjoyed the touch of the slight autumn breeze.

Two hours or three passed in the shade

Till the sunshine retreated and the trees swayed.

He shook himself from his pleasant nap,

He shrugged his shoulders and straightened his cap.

He whistled and marched along the stream,

When he felt he heard a tiny scream.

Taken aback, he looked around,

North or south, east or west, not a soul he found.

He resumed his whistling as he sauntered on,

Not a bird chirped, he wondered where they had gone.

Not a cricket, not a croak he could hear,

His whistle alone echoed in his ear.

He grew nervous as he walked ahead,

He took the path he knew, to the town it led.

He still whistled and kept up his gait,

It was growing darker but he kept on straight.

He seemed to walk and walk in vain,

He took off his cap and ruffled his mane.

The town was nowhere in near sight,

At this rate, he'd be out tonight.

And finally, he heard a gruff voice,

From behind the trees there came a noise.

"Halt! You vile brute!", the voice spoke.

He cautiously gazed upon the rows of oak.

A strong wind swept him off his feet,

Dazed he was, his heart wildly did beat.

Before he knew he was clutched by a giant hand,

A grim giant man stood tall above the forest land.

He seemed old and wise with a long , green beard,

The town fool squirmed as the giant brought him near.

"You dare crush the helper of the Forest Spirit!"

It pelted down hard on the townfool, the giant's spit.

He pleaded with the angry Forest Spirit, The Leshy,

"Apologies oh great one, for I was unable to see

Your helper, for I was too big, I assume."
The Leshy pondered as he continued to fume.

"But you must repay for your unkindly act.",

The Leshy frowned and vengeance he did exact.

Soon the giant faded much like a dream,

And the townfool woke up near the stream.

He shook himself as he awoke from the nightmare,

He heard the sounds of the forest as well as the chilly air.

The chirps were louder and so were the croaks,

The crickets thundered and there were giant cloaks,

Green as velvet, his senses seemed gnarled,

Till he took flight, for a monster behind him snarled.

A little fox chased after its tail,

Standing there, no human might hear his wail.

The town fool was never found again,

But the townfolk did complain of rogue little men.

About the post:  As per Nordic Myths, Leshy was the Slavonic spirit of the forest who led travelers and hunters astray in the woods. Among his chief powers was the ability to change size at will, from being small as a mouse to growing as tall as the highest tree. 

Trick or Treat

The child's eyes flew open as he awoke,

"Get ready for breakfast, Lex.", his mother spoke.

His green eyes like hers lit up bright,

He had great plans for the special night.

Out he jumped and off went he,

Hardly able to contain his glee.

He blew mint bubbles as he giggled,

He brushed away as his body jiggled.

He combed his hair like a nice boy,

He opened his wardrobe and roared with joy.

He ran downstairs and into the kitchen,

He hugged her tight much like a kitten.

His mother laughed and petted his head,

"I guess you like it then.", she smiled and said.

"I love it, Mom.", he was happy as could be,

He got his wish, the perfect costume, you see.

The day went by in preparation for the night,

She carefully painted a few strands white.

On his lips, she gave him a touch of crimson,

She put away her lipstick and smiled at her son.

How the Count himself would be proud,

The child raised his nose and gently bowed.

The theatrics made her laugh out aloud.

A full moon adorned the night sky,

Monsters, big and small were on the sly,

Jack-o-lanterns smirked at them as they lurked,

These evil little ones were not to be irked.

They went door to door and gathered their loot,

They whispered as they chomped on candied fruit.

"Well, I'm going to meet a witch later.", said Lex.

The others laughed, "Watch out for her hex."

Lex was offended, he ran away, holding back tears.

His face was red and hot were his ears.

He reached for his pocket as his cape swayed behind,

He pulled out what had been his greatest find.

He eyed the sandalwood as he sat under the oak,

He had found it in the garden, along with a cloak.

He knew not of the letter in the other pocket

Or the silver pendant in a silver locket.

All he knew was the sweet smell of sandalwood,

He sniffed his treasure, smiling, as he stood.

Church bells rang out the warning sign,

Almost midnight, much past his curfew of nine.

Lex quickly took off his clothes and wore them inside out,

He walked backwards, he heard the revelers shout.

The church bell rang its final note,

Midnight came, Lex saw something nearby float.

It whizzed past the plains, a silhouette he saw,

As it flew past the moon, Lex gaped in awe.

Before he knew it, it headed straight for him,

Lex stood petrified, he could not move a limb.

The wind blew around him much too strongly,

He closed his eyes and moved behind the tree.

Now and then when he opened his eyes,

All he saw were greenish sparkles in the skies.

The wind swept around as he braced himself for the blow

Something gripped him tight and refused to let go.

Before he could yell for help, he heard a voice,

"Young man. Pick a punishment of your choice.",

His mother's green eyes shone fiercely,

She took him by the collar and dragged him swiftly. 

About the post:  What can Halloween be without witches?? As per Halloween superstitions, if you wish to meet a witch, wear your clothes inside out and walk backwards on Halloween's night. Do watch out what you wish for today.

The lady with the lamp

She changes into her silvery white gown,

And brushes her hair from the crown.

Her long hair were silken and dark,

The candle on her dresser begins to spark.

The candle sputters till she cups the flame,

She looks at her reflection with a hint of shame.

She rosies her cheeks and prims her lips,

She smells the vine and slowly she sips.

The weather worsens, it begins to rain,

The candle sputters and sparks again.

She hurries and fetches an oil lamp,

"It must be that wretched scamp.

I must relieve that lass for this trick."

She lowered the candle's wick

Till it lights the oil lamp and the room,

She picks up her dainty bottle of perfume.

She sniffs the musk scent and smiles,

She hums a tune and her nails she files.

Thunder and lightening begin to roar,

A gust of wind blows the candle to the floor.

She protects the oil lamp from the gale,

It rages a while and then it goes pale.

Her shadows cast an eerie sight,

The frail oil lamp tries to light the dark night.

She studies her hair in the mirror,

She brushes them and then screams in horror.

In the blink of an eye, it goes away,

She believes she saw her reflection, dull and gray.

She inspects her chaste face,

No wrinkles, no blemishes, just her grace.

She feels uneasy and picks up the lamp,

She uses the wash cloth, though cold and damp.

She slowly dries her face and hands,

She feels petrified, staring at the water, she stands.

She sees His reflection beside her own,

She turns around to find herself alone.

She takes the lamp and dashes outside,

Unaware that she has no place to hide.

The ghost of her sin chases her around,

They look for her but she is never found.

Such is the story of the lady of the hill,

The woman in white, she roams still.

So they tell the children before they leave,

To trick or treat on All Hallow's Eve.


About the post: Some of the superstitions and beliefs around Halloween's are used in this post-

As per some beliefs, if unmarried women were to gaze into a mirror in a dark room, they would be able to see their future husband. If they saw a skull, it meant that they would die before getting married.

If a candle blows out on its own or due to wind on Halloween's, it is believed that a ghost is in the vicinity.

If one hears something behind one's back on Halloween's, it is believed that one must never look back for it may be death itself. 

For Bread and Gin

Hear me out, I have a song to sing,

An old tale to you I bring.

A poor hawker had walked about all day,

No sales however had come his way.

Dejected and defeated, he took to the road,

Weary he was, carrying all the load.

The empty pots and pans weighed him down,

Much like the people of the town.

They cared not for him, nor for his wares,

Wherever he went, he only found stares.

As he passed the last house in the town,

He was struck by it and wore a frown.

It was a tree house up in the oak tree,

A small, crooked place as far as he could see.

A voice called out and disrupted his thought,

"Oi! What's that you've got?",

A little man peered out from a window,

"Come on up if you have something to show."

The hawker perked up at the prospect of a buyer,

He cautiously climbed the tree, higher and higher.

He felt he was too big for the tree house,

He waited at the door, like a curious mouse.

The little man opened the door and smiled,

He wore a tattered robe and his hair were wild.

A long greying beard hung under his chin,

He looked old and frail, his make was thin.

His bushy eyebrows loomed over small beady eyes,

That looked distant but also looked wise.

"I've got some pots and pans for sale."

"You should've got along with that, some ale!",

He grumbled as he narrowed his eyes at him.

"Fool! The land was struck by a famine so grim

That they had naught a morsel to eat,

And you cry about pots and pans and their heat,

When people can barely afford grains or meat."

The hawker broke down, he sighed out aloud,

"To come back with a meal,  I had vowed.

I had nothing else to sell for a living,

Fate seems to be most unforgiving."

The little old man softened his stance,

"There there, dear boy, you may still have a chance.

I can offer you a single loaf of my bread,

If you trade all your wares instead."

The hawker was aghast at the man's proposition,

"That, Sir, is far from a sale or trade's definition.

My wares are worth more than a loaf of bread."

"Yes, but I think you will need it in your journey ahead.

It will help you in ways more than one,

If not, then you come back and claim it all, son.

Don't look sad, I'll up my bargain,

Along with the bread, I'll give you some Gin."

The hawker decided to take the offer

And they quickly made the transfer.

The little man bid him farewell with a wink,

"Was I just swindled?", he began to think.

He figured atleast his family would be fed,

His vow would be kept through the loaf of bread.

He walked towards the forest of oak,

He gathered wood till his campfire was out of smoke.

He went onward, with bread, gin and firewood,

He carried as much wood to sell, as he could.

He stumbled upon a patch of unfamiliar grass,

That seemed to grow upon a large earthy mass.

It blocked his way to the road ahead,

He jumped when he saw it spread

All around, till as far as he could see,

He felt weak and began to feel hungry.

He heard the phantom calls of the dead,

They wailed near him, praying to be fed.

His own hunger began to weaken his mind,

He felt his hunger grow, his stomach whined.

Among the dead, a little child cried,

Now and then, the hawker, it eyed.

The hawker struggled with himself,

He knew this trick must belong to an elf.

With much restraint, he broke a morsel of bread,

He crushed it to a powder and threw it to the dead.

They left him alone and went away,

And at once the elf appeared, mumbling his dismay.

"You are a cheat, human. How can you afford bread?

When many others lie here dead.

Ohh! You spoilt it all for me."

The elf grumbled and disappeared behind a tree.

The grass disappeared, the earthy mass remained,

He looked about and the remaining Gin he drained

As he continued his journey to his hometown.

That night his family ate but his wife wore a frown.

The wares were gone for bread and gin,

Again, he had let his weakness win.

She wondered what tales were to follow,

He tried to explain but she found it hard to swallow.



About the post: As per Irish mythology, "hungry grass/fairy grass" is a patch of cursed grass. It is believed that anyone who passes through it will be struck by hunger and can overcome this curse only if they are carrying something to eat. 

The Highwayman's toll

Today, I intend to sing in a different tone,

A tale about a place and creatures unknown.

A highwayman of much repute,

A despicable man, an absolute brute.

His fellow robbers would often say,

"If the need arose, his shadow too he would betray."

Tonight as any other, he'd struck again,

But the cavalry caught up with his handymen.

He however, had cleverly evaded arrest.

"East!.", he yelled to them and fled west.

Before the men could see through the deceit

He had ridden onwards, a path discreet.

He trod over treacherous ravines,

Till he reached some sort of abandoned mines.

He pricked up his ears and came to a stop.

"Call it a night laddie, time to shut shop."

He tied his horse to the trunk of a nearby tree

Not a creature around, as far as he could see.

The woods were turning darker by the mile,

It was prudent to rest for a while. 

The mines looked sinister and fraught with danger,

To which our fiend was no stranger.

He clasped his dagger, his flask of mead,

The eerie glow of his lantern would onward lead.

As he cautiously hunched and walked inside,

He counted his steps, he marked each stride.

He ventured not too far from the mouth,

It would be too risky going further south.

He quickly set his lantern down,

And lay on his back, on a soft rabble of brown.

He slowly and steadily drifted towards dreams,

Working on several devious schemes.

His precious scheme were disrupted by a grunt.

"That's my bed!!",he heard a voice, hoarse and blunt.

He found himself staring at an angry Goblin,

It growled,"Why I oughtta have your skin!"

It had a grotesque, a most unsightly make,

The fiend knew that his life was now at stake.

Its big eyes glowed in the eerie light,

Long, pointed ears, its sharp nails, a fright.

Razor sharp teeth stood glaring at him,

With a large earthen pot, filled up to the brim

Something flowing and swirling inside,

For which the fiend would've given his hide.

"I apologize profusely, for having offended you,

I would've stayed out if I only knew

That this was home to a living soul,

I will try and repay, just name your toll."

The plan was to appeal to the Goblin's greed,

He had enough to bargain, there was gold and mead.

The Goblin seemed to have taken the bait,

"Alright! I'll have pieces of gold, atleast eight."

The fiend smiled a relieved smile,

"I'll give you more if you let me stay a while."

The Goblin gave a disgruntled nod,

He found the fiend's actions very odd.

"I have always wondered what Goblins do,

I'll pay extra gold for answers from you.",

The fiend offered it twelve pieces of gold,

It grabbed the gold as his eyes patrolled.

"I do what I want and in my mines I weigh

The riches that I gather during the day."

"But this mine has long been in disuse."

The fiend was curious of what riches it could produce.

The Goblin turned and walked further ahead,

Our fiend complied and offered gold instead.

"Precious gems and stones, gold and silver ore.

Beyond a human's reach, close to the earthy core."

The Goblin again walked further ahead.

The roof of the mine was getting closer overhead.

The fiend still followed, with his lantern.

He offered gold again, more he had to learn.

"What do you do with all the riches?"

"We temper them and carry them in our britches."

"What good would come of that?" 

"They are enchanted, used in combat."

"What kind of enchantments can you weave?"

"To heal, to relieve, to make one believe."

"Where from do you learn these magic spells?"

"From the underground, its ancient wells."

"Where is this underground that you mention?"

"A realm beyond your reach, a different dimension."

"How can one reach for this land of beyond?"

"Only if one signs, the ancient, earthly bond.

"A bond of iron, a pact of the creatures underground,

To take their form but by conditions bound.

One could be sworn by paying a small fees."

The fiend reached for gold, he found one last piece.

"Alas, you have not enough to garner my aid,

Be gone now! You can offer me naught, I'm afraid.",

The goblin feigned interest and turned away,

Greed had begun to hold its sway.

The fiend offered his horse, his dagger, his mead,

But the goblin refused, not once he agreed.

"But I do say, I don't mind some help myself,

I must take this earthen pot to an elf.

It resides in the underground where riches are smelt."

The fiend nodded, picked up the pot, warm it felt.

He peered inside now and then as he followed behind,

He fancied the riches that he would find,

A free trip to the underground without a bond,

The goblin knew not that he was being conned.

Weary though he was, the fiend diligently walked,

Now and then, the ground trembled and rocked.

As they passed, the fiend saw quarries in plenty,

Gold, silver, diamonds and rubies among the bounty.

He saw old, dwarf like men hammering the rocks,

The gems were separated, then kept as stocks.

The labour looked tired but more so deranged,

They mumbled and grumbled, no words they exchanged.

When their bags were filled to the brim,

They were offered food or drink or maybe a trim.

Their eyes were sunken, their skin red and dry,

They hunched and stooped and often one would cry.

Finally they reached the elf that was busy smelting,

"More resources, dear friend, here I bring."

The goblin said to the elf and started to walk away,

The fiend greedily pocketed gems that were lying astray.

He turned back to the entrance from which they came,

He soon realized the goblin's cunning game.

He knew not how to escape the underground,

By his actions and greed, he was now bound.

The entrance was nowhere to be seen,

"You can work for me in return for canteen.",

The goblin whispered and then walked away,

"Might as well be useful, if you decide to stay."

Every question had made him poorer by gold pieces two

Maybe he had bitten off more than he could chew.

Bringing her home

My voice, it falters but my will shall not betray,
These tales that I have vowed to convey.
As the fifth song I begin,
I feel an unearthly chill from within.
A woman waded forward, surrounded by snow,
The village lights had soon turned into a distant glow.
Izumi still went forward, unrelenting,
"Maiko!!", she called out, all the while lamenting.
"Maiko!!", her tears nearly froze as they came
But she continued to call out her name.
She thought of nothing, except her child,
She worried not of what lurked in the wild.
The villagers spoke about legends of Yuki
Tales of terror and downright spooky.
She was said to be a mistress of snow
Who perished in a snowstorm ages ago.
A Yokai's form she assumed,
So many lost, so many her snow consumed.
Some said she was a beauty, most divine
With unmatched allure, her silken robes were fine.
Some said her lips were frozen blue,
Some said that the living's life she drew.
Some said she feasted upon mortal blood
Till they bled dry and slumped with a thud.
Some said she floated like a feather,
Some said she could control the weather.
Some said she had long, black hair,
Few said she was also known to care.
But Izumi went on, her mind was made,
"Maiko!!", she continued to wade.
A snow storm was beginning to rise,
And all one could hear was Izumi's cries.
The wind howled and bellowed
To warn her but her grit would not erode.
She still went further, deeper inside the storm
When finally she spotted a stranded form.
She ran up to her and turned her around,
She gasped in horror and then she frowned.
A woman lay lifeless, turning blue in the snow,
A woman Izumi once used to know.
She said a silent prayer and paid her obeisance,
Death lingered nearby, engaged in its spritely dance.
"Maiko!!", she yelled as she moved ahead.
Till she found herself walking in little pools of red.
She carefully evaded the nightmarish sight,
And finally, she met her, in the dead of the night.
Izumi stayed still as a mist descended about,
It was Yuki Onna, the Yokai, without a doubt.
"Is my Maiko with you?", Izumi spoke,
"Surely human, you think this is a joke."
Yuki Onna's blue lips curled into a smirk.
"You must not disrupt my work."
Izumi prostrated before the mistress of snow,
"Please, take me and let her go."
"I sent several warnings your way,
But now you have reached the end of your stay.
However, I am not all ice as people say
And one act of kindness, I must display.
Maiko should be safe for now,
One wish, just one, I shall allow?"
Yuki Onna showed her visions of Maiko,
She had taken refuge in a cave of snow.
Izumi thought for a while and then said,
"I wish you were my child, back from the dead."
No sooner had Izumi finished saying so
That Yuki Onna melted away, so did her snow.
Tiny embers of purple sparkled about
And in her place a  baby lay, wearing a pout.
Izumi picked up the child and hugged her tight,
"Let's find your sister, now all is right."



About the post:  This post uses the concept of "Yuki Onna" which, as per Japanese beliefs is a spirit (Yokai) associated with the snow. It is believed of a woman and there are multiple myths about her appearance and powers. 

The Spirit Trap

Much to wonder, much to ponder.
Let me sing again, before you wander.
The fourth story bubbles in my mind,
Be patient as my words unwind.
A little village in the midst of gigantic heights
Himalayan winds roared unforgivingly through the nights.
The villagers abided by frugality,
Exception being their devotion to spirituality.
Every morning, in the early hours,
They gathered together with some flowers.
Together they walked down to the temple square
They meditated for calm and chanted a prayer.
As soon as their prayer was said,
A young monk would come ahead.
"Brothers and sisters, we start a new day."
He would bow with them, not a word more he would say.
When the sky would begin to wear a tinge of black,
All the villagers would tread back.
They would gather again and chant another prayer.
The monk would emerge, holy incense would temper the bitter air.
Then all would retire for the night,
The village would rest, not a soul to be in sight.
Such were the days and nights in the village,
Till one day, a stranger came, with an intent to pillage.
A spy from a foreign land,
He was there to observe the village firsthand.
Was the village worth a loot
Or was it worthy of territorial pursuit?
He had hid himself all day, trained was he,
"Strange! Not a single man or woman at this hour I see."
He said to himself as he moved in the shadows.
"Now what is that, one would suppose."
He looked at the roof of a nearby house,
He ventured close, quiet as a mouse.
A strange contraption adorned the roof,
Bright threads in a spindle left him further aloof.
He looked about and soon observed,
There was one on each roof, it left him unnerved.
"Get it together soldier! You are a master of stealth.
Finish the job and there will be considerable wealth."
He boosted his morale as the wind spat in his face.
"The temple, my steps from the morning I shall retrace.
Lets see what riches it keeps,
Might nick some souvenirs while everyone sleeps."
He walked stealthily in the middle of the night
Till a strange creature came in sight.
It had a thin straw like neck and a great pot belly,
Its eyes darted around, fast and haphazardly.
The spy was petrified and smothered a cry,
Not yet had this creature glanced upon the spy.
It carried the weight of its belly in its brawny hands,
As it waddled about, waving its very many strands
As they whipped the Himalayan air,
The spy ran towards the temple square.
He looked back over his shoulder,
The creature was hurling after him like a boulder.
The spy sped up and held on to his gait
While the creature followed, carrying his weight.
Soon the spy burst into the temple hall,
The monk emerged, he stood tall.
"Its here, help me. Its here.",
He uttered, cowering with fear.
The monk stood in front of him and waited.
Finally the creature came, its sharp teeth it grated.
The monk closed his eyes as if to pray.
The creature chomped hungrily, the monk was eaten away.
No sooner had it taken a bite,
The creature howled over his plight.
The spy still cowered in the shadows
He waited his turn, death was close. 
The creature choked and coughed in pain,
But his hunger he could not restrain.
It rested for a moment, as its form gorged,
Unaware of the energy that surged
From behind, until it spoke,
It chanted a prayer and the creature awoke.
But it neither howled, nor it stirred,
In a snap of the fingers, it took the form of a bird.
The spy was dumb-struck and turned towards the light
The monk! He held a torch, burning bright.
"Ser Na, hungry was that ghost,
Ever consuming , a disease among most.
From its Bardo state it has emerged,
Reborn as a bird once its senses converged.
Forget your violent ways and embrace serenity.
It is time that you remember your identity.
A spy of a ruthless kingdom nearby
You died of your own doing, acting on the sly.
As you fiddled with the spirit traps on the roof tops,
They resisted you and left you but an undead corpse."
The spy remembered now, life came and went fleetingly,
He felt his form change, he smiled one last time, sheepishly.
"I have been found but what awaits you."
With a loud hiss, out of snakeskin it grew.
And so did hiss the Himalayan wind that night,
As the monk came to realize his own plight.



About the post: The post uses the beliefs around Tibetan Ghosts. A hungry ghost as per Tibetan beliefs, has a narrow neck and a huge stomach and thus, can never be satisfied.

Bardo: An intermediate state after a person dies, between two lives, the one over and the next one.

Ser Na: Used to refer to the emotional state of the hungry ghost.

Spirit Trap: A spindle like object with bright threads entwined and used to catch spirits. Once the spirit is caught, the spirit trap is burnt.