A jaunty walk in an eerie park,
Where an empty swing-set keeps swinging
A distant whisper, to raise suspicion,
Induce a haunting curiosity which proved numbing.
Leaf-less trees emulate the spooky tree from potter,
Where fallen leaves create swirling patterns with the wind
Wishing that I was Wendell and Monica Wilkins’s daughter,
Who is fearless and effulgent, no matter how scary the night is, and no matter how grim.
Suddenly out of nowhere, a voice called out, that sounded just like my mothers’
I chastised myself for coming out for a walk, in the eerie park all by myself.
Because I had a feeling of something evil hovering, just above my head,
I wondered if it wanted to hurt me, or hug me or just wanted to talk instead.
But my fear abated, as thoughts percolated
As it all reminded me of the Canterville ghost from the Oscar Wilde plot
I smiled at my memory of it and embraced the now sweetened fear, consummately.
The melancholic ghost could never hurt me, I thought.
I came out into the light, bolder than Hermione Granger (not quite)
I became friends with all the voices inside (and outside?) my head and embraced their incomprehensibility
I learnt that even when it’s not dark, such whimsical energy does environ me
So it’s just the fear of the dark and of the unimaginable, only because it is unimaginable.
It all depends on what you imagine, and then, who/what you imagine yourself to be.
Hence, I learnt that fear is a part of life; all you do is learn to accommodate it.