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Array ( [sid] => 152180 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => The Haunted Graveyard [time] => 2009-08-11 23:47:11 [hometext] => [bodytext] => In the dead of night, the bus came to a screeching halt,
I got down exhausted, traveling in that rattling junk.
The foot-path to my village was under a shroud of darkness,
And to traverse two miles alone, a real thriller, I thought.
I visited the place, after very many autumns and springs.
Walking down slowly, nostalgic about those memorable days;
My toiling in the fields, the mischief-seeking friends,
The fun-filled village festivals, flashed in my memory,
As a slide show, the most cherished moments in one’s life.
Engrossed in deep thoughts and recollections of the past,
I stumbled upon a stone near a nondescript graveyard;
A haunted place, as believed and feared by the village folks.
Rumors were afloat about the ghosts, clad in white dress,
Footless, dancing around the banyan tree near by the grave.
My grandpa, told me such frightening bedtime stories,
Those were the nights, I hardly slept, my eyes tightly closed,
Fearing those ‘dancing devils’ might sneak into my room.

Fear gripped me as I was nearing the grave.
To compound my fears, I heard faint foot steps,
Rustling rhythmically over the fallen dead leaves,
Gradually rising like a crescendo, it stopped abruptly.
For a moment, breathless I stood like a granite statue,
The horror movies I saw, paraded before me at random.
A man appeared before me; from the dim moonlight
I saw his face closely; his feet firmly on the ground,
(The local myth: the feet of the ghosts remain invisible)
Not a ghost this person, I was very much relieved.
The man starred at me for a while and asked me,
“Excuse me sir, Are you new to this village?
I ain’t seen you before.”
“Oh, yeah”, I told him briefly about my roots here.
“I am Peter, working as a teacher in the local school”
I was reminded of my school; my childhood fantasy,
It was like ruins in the war-ravaged zone, those days.
To my surprise Peter read my mind perfectly and said,
“But, sir, now the school has a new building;
It has been upgraded to Higher-Secondary level”
“I am really glad to know; In fact, I have come here
To donate a laptop to the school” I explained.
“It is very kind of you to remember your alma mater”
Peter said politely.
My thoughts shifted to the haunted grave-yard,
“Do the village folks still believe the grave is haunted?”
I asked eagerly.
He laughed loudly, ripping the silence,
“People never change”, he lamented
“A rumor is doing its round now;
A man committed suicide recently;
People say his spirit is hanging around the grave;
Some even claimed to have sighted it”
Peter said pensively.
We entered the village,
Peter, with a broad smile said,
“It is nice meeting you, sir,
My home is over there, a short distance away,
We will meet at the school tomorrow”
And he disappeared in the enveloping darkness.


Meeting Peter at the desolate place was very relieving,
Reaching my old friend’s home, I fell asleep at once.
Waking up late in the morning, the next day,
With refreshed energy and excitement of a child,
I hurried to the school; it was very imposing.
Readily I went to meet the Head Master;
Seated in his room was a short, stocky man.
With a beaming smile, he welcomed me warmly.
I shared with him my good old days at the school
And gave away the laptop as my humble gift,
To the school that initiated me to the world of wisdom.
The H.M was much pleased and thanked me profusely;
“A nice gift, a boon to the rural students of this area.”
He commended.
About to leave, I suddenly remembered Peter.
“Sir, by the way I would like to meet, one Mr. Peter.”
“What?” exclaimed the HM, his voice trailing off.
“Yes, Mr. Peter, a staff member of the school”
I told him how I met him in the previous night,
And how we became good friends over night.
His face became pale and looked terrified,
His voice trembled as he spoke to me,
“One Mr. Peter was here, a science teacher, …but…”
He could not continue, there was a pause,
“ but… he committed suicide a few days back,
hanging from the banyan tree, near the grave yard
due to some personal problem. How could he…”
The HM stopped suddenly and looked at me strangely.
I was shocked; my body began to shiver,
My voice choked; I quietly left the room.















[comments] => 0 [counter] => 168 [topic] => 43 [informant] => mohan [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 4 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
The Haunted Graveyard

Contributed by mohan on Tuesday, 11th August 2009 @ 11:47:11 PM in AEST
Topic: oops



In the dead of night, the bus came to a screeching halt,
I got down exhausted, traveling in that rattling junk.
The foot-path to my village was under a shroud of darkness,
And to traverse two miles alone, a real thriller, I thought.
I visited the place, after very many autumns and springs.
Walking down slowly, nostalgic about those memorable days;
My toiling in the fields, the mischief-seeking friends,
The fun-filled village festivals, flashed in my memory,
As a slide show, the most cherished moments in one’s life.
Engrossed in deep thoughts and recollections of the past,
I stumbled upon a stone near a nondescript graveyard;
A haunted place, as believed and feared by the village folks.
Rumors were afloat about the ghosts, clad in white dress,
Footless, dancing around the banyan tree near by the grave.
My grandpa, told me such frightening bedtime stories,
Those were the nights, I hardly slept, my eyes tightly closed,
Fearing those ‘dancing devils’ might sneak into my room.

Fear gripped me as I was nearing the grave.
To compound my fears, I heard faint foot steps,
Rustling rhythmically over the fallen dead leaves,
Gradually rising like a crescendo, it stopped abruptly.
For a moment, breathless I stood like a granite statue,
The horror movies I saw, paraded before me at random.
A man appeared before me; from the dim moonlight
I saw his face closely; his feet firmly on the ground,
(The local myth: the feet of the ghosts remain invisible)
Not a ghost this person, I was very much relieved.
The man starred at me for a while and asked me,
“Excuse me sir, Are you new to this village?
I ain’t seen you before.”
“Oh, yeah”, I told him briefly about my roots here.
“I am Peter, working as a teacher in the local school”
I was reminded of my school; my childhood fantasy,
It was like ruins in the war-ravaged zone, those days.
To my surprise Peter read my mind perfectly and said,
“But, sir, now the school has a new building;
It has been upgraded to Higher-Secondary level”
“I am really glad to know; In fact, I have come here
To donate a laptop to the school” I explained.
“It is very kind of you to remember your alma mater”
Peter said politely.
My thoughts shifted to the haunted grave-yard,
“Do the village folks still believe the grave is haunted?”
I asked eagerly.
He laughed loudly, ripping the silence,
“People never change”, he lamented
“A rumor is doing its round now;
A man committed suicide recently;
People say his spirit is hanging around the grave;
Some even claimed to have sighted it”
Peter said pensively.
We entered the village,
Peter, with a broad smile said,
“It is nice meeting you, sir,
My home is over there, a short distance away,
We will meet at the school tomorrow”
And he disappeared in the enveloping darkness.


Meeting Peter at the desolate place was very relieving,
Reaching my old friend’s home, I fell asleep at once.
Waking up late in the morning, the next day,
With refreshed energy and excitement of a child,
I hurried to the school; it was very imposing.
Readily I went to meet the Head Master;
Seated in his room was a short, stocky man.
With a beaming smile, he welcomed me warmly.
I shared with him my good old days at the school
And gave away the laptop as my humble gift,
To the school that initiated me to the world of wisdom.
The H.M was much pleased and thanked me profusely;
“A nice gift, a boon to the rural students of this area.”
He commended.
About to leave, I suddenly remembered Peter.
“Sir, by the way I would like to meet, one Mr. Peter.”
“What?” exclaimed the HM, his voice trailing off.
“Yes, Mr. Peter, a staff member of the school”
I told him how I met him in the previous night,
And how we became good friends over night.
His face became pale and looked terrified,
His voice trembled as he spoke to me,
“One Mr. Peter was here, a science teacher, …but…”
He could not continue, there was a pause,
“ but… he committed suicide a few days back,
hanging from the banyan tree, near the grave yard
due to some personal problem. How could he…”
The HM stopped suddenly and looked at me strangely.
I was shocked; my body began to shiver,
My voice choked; I quietly left the room.



















Copyright © mohan ... [ 2009-08-11 23:47:11]
(Date/Time posted on site)





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