Santosh Bakaya writes

THE FOG

PART ONE

Section 3

The voice echoed, sometimes near, sometimes far.

The words, though incoherent, had a visceral power.

I agonized, should I whirl around with fists balled?

But I stopped in my tracks as someone sadly called.   

Fear trickled into my heart like cold water.

I shivered and my panicky feet started to totter.

The river chatted on with a syrupy loquacity,

Stoking my fears with a malicious animosity.

Was some writer unleashing a grave new world

Whose spurt of fantasy slowly before me uncurled? 

Ah, in the darkness, the fog its treasures unfurled.

With a firm resolve into the jungle, myself I hurled.

Blindly I ran, mumbling, stumbling and tumbling.

The stranger followed me, frenzied his fumbling.

Frantic footfalls were coming dangerously near.

I could see nothing, but palpable was the fear.

"Stranger, did you see an emerald eyed beauty here?"

The voice behind me was like a heart wrenching tear.

"Please, tell me if you know.” Soft was the plea. 

I shuddered and from the scene wanted to flee.

I could feel the quiver of a body near my shoulder. 

Suddenly the weather seemed to have become colder.

There was a ripple of laughter followed by a scream.

My heart was in my mouth. Was it a bizarre dream? 

With incredible persistence and mind boggling nerve

The voice followed me with a benumbing verve.

Was I in the midst of a grotesque nightmare?

I stifled a cry, as my foot was tickled by a hare.

My thoughts were like fireflies flitting around

As I rushed along on the slippery and scary ground.

Who was it chasing me relentlessly in the murky fog?

Whispered the voice, “you will trip, come sit on the log."

 

 Foggy Marsh -- Maurice Sapiro