A Voice in the Dark | Shubhodeep Pal

I met her at a club dinner one Saturday night. There was an odd sort of radiance on her countenance. I was helping myself to a fifth glass of chilled lemonade when I spotted her. She was standing alone—though not in a corner. I walked up to her out of sheer curiosity. Something magnetic about her seemed to be drawing me towards her—irresistibly, inevitably… Hesitating slightly, I sauntered casually up to where she stood. ‘Don’t you think the music’s playing a bit too loud’ I asked casually. ‘Uh…yeah, well sort of’ she replied somewhat warily. ‘So, enjoying yourself?’ I asked. ‘Yeah’ she said without enthusiasm. ‘Don’t sound like it’ I remarked. ‘Well,’ she said more freely, ‘I thought I’d meet some friends at least. But my luck seems to have run out.’ She sighed. I looked up and nearly gasped. For the first time I noticed how pretty she was. Fringes of hair ran down her face, and as she pushed them back I noticed her eyes—sparkling black—she looked bewitching. ‘Oh well…yeah it’s that w

This is the first (serious) poem I ever wrote, when I was about thirteen years old Under the greenwood tree I stand , I stand and stare into the darkness that overpowers and envelops itself around me. All is calm , Yet not peaceful… I cry out for release, mercy. But answer there is none. I relapse into dreams… Pleasant and peaceful times, these. The meadows are green, The Bird and the Leaf do sit on the branch. But an evil wind is blowing: Terror, Panic, blood everywhere Will there be no end? Light, at last! The meadows are green once more, The birds sing, the wind does blow. But I sleep on; never to wake From eternal slumber.