It’s not late, it’s not dark,
Another hour or so before the dusk,
Nonetheless it feels eerie and tense
As if the air is filled with suspense…
Nothing is happening, all is still,
I looked up, behind and uphill,
Cars passed by, once or twice,
No other movement otherwise…
No birds, no squirrel with a torn ear,
Nothing moves or so it appeared,
All stopped and cautiously waits
While eeriness is passing through the gate…
Minutes passed. Or hours? – Who knows?
All was lifeless above and below…
Where this strangeness dwells,
Behind which gate or cell?
Housed in dimension of Fear
Arriving always from …nowhere,
Eeriness, sightless and unkind,
Is playing tricks with our minds.
*************************
White bread in hand. My sparrows are here,
So is the squirrel with a torn ear…
What was it? Hiccupping of Time? –
Whatever it was, it is all behind…
February 17, 2009