The Ghosts

Copyright Dhiraj Joshi-written during Nov. 2006.

In a small and sleepy village,
In eighteen hundred and three;
Lived a family of spirits,
Atop a crooked tree.

They sang and danced and partied,
No trace of pain, no fear;
They knew no greed, no envy,
They were humble and sincere.

They fed on air and water,
Could disapper at will;
Celebrated their freedom,
With kindness and goodwill.

The village folks, they dreaded,
The crooked tree, so old;
"It's occupied by phantoms!!",
Their forefathers had told.

"They are deathly white and ugly,
On flesh and blood they live;
Beware the wretched creatures,
No human they forgive."

For years had co-existed,
two different forms of life;
At peace the ghosts, the humans
engaged in worldly strife.

Till an unexpected morning,
When the earth rolled and rocked;
There was panic and disorder,
Were humans ghastly shocked.

And when the quake subsided,
Was a conference convened;
"The Gods have leashed their fury,
Have our worships demeaned?"

"Oh brothers, lend me a moment",
The village priest explained;
"Tis the ghosts who caused the havoc,
Evil powers have they gained".

"To appease the Gods, our saviours,
Would a ritual fulfill;
The crooked tree be rooted,
And thrown off the hill".

"Yes, let us chop the devils,
Destroy their home, so vile";
"Beware!!" a scholar uttered,
"Spirits are full of guile!!".

"To catch the villains unguarded,
be the fiercest daggers drawn!;
The night, we pray and brandish,
Slay the devils sharp at dawn."

"So be it, we hail Almighty,
May our people live and breed;
Send the devils to perdition,
Long live our human creed!!."

At dawn, the slayers gathered,
with swords and jagged knives;
The crooked tree, they raided,
"Ensure, no ghost survives!!"

Barbaric was the action,
fanatic wows of zeal;
They ripped the tree, so rigid,
with brutal blows of steel.

The ghosts, quiet and stoic,
woken to death and pain;
Fled down the hill, to the valley,
in shock, yet no complains.

Slain several lay their brothers,
in a bout of rage and hate;
Yet no offensive action,
did once they contemplate.

In the quiet and lonely valley,
they found a home, anew;
The slow and rythemic water,
of the stream, the sky so blue.

While the Godforsaken country,
where humans made their living;
Consumed with greed and haunted,
was their past unforgiving?

Till the day, oh save Almighty,
when in kingdom of man;
Grew hatred to such limit,
a civil war began.

Men, women, children captive,
in hundreds, thousands dead;
Were houses burnt in envy,
the streets were painted red.

Did stray one dying soldier,
to the vale down the hill;
in the generous bode of the phantoms,
the air was quiet and still.

"Water, water" he whispered,
and staggered to the creek,
then dropped to ground, the fighter,
lay thirsty, spent and weak.

One wandering spirit spotted,
the human lying still;
He called upon his brethrens,
their ritual to fulfill.

In a circle, all united,
with faith transcending death;
Prayed for the man's living,
till he got back his breath.

Into air, the spirits vanished,
before the man could realize;
His saviour angels in hiding,
and humans ghosts in guise.