Masked as witches, cloaks running under their feet,
My granddaughters stand stirring
The earthworm eggs, the ant heads, lizard tails and the snake skin.
Blending in wild roots, buried leaves for the seasoning.
Singing They are coming, they are coming.
In a pit full of mud turning into green slush to be fed
To the army of spiders guarding the porch,
Their web spread over the door.
Woken from sleep as the ghosts of The Hungry Caterpillar.
Singing In spirit of dried blood, they return to this earth, Trick or treat, they carry our sins and good deeds.
The grandfathers, the grandmothers, their aunts, uncles and pets.
The Cheshire Cats, the Crookshanks.
All tell, Fear not death, it will be wrapped in our breath, It is beautiful, it is beautiful to be dead.
Ripping the horizon, pouring come the kites with owl heads.
Arresting the sun, whipping a storm, blinking eyes red.
Singing Trick you perish, treat you live, dissolve fear, foster no grief, We bestow rebirth on earthly feast.
Quickening pace, slicing the day, imploring heavens to descend on earth,
Feed the spiders, go to bed, sweet dreams, sweet dreams, This Halloween.
Abha Das Sarma is an Indian writer with a blog of over 200 poems. An engineer and management consultant by profession, she is passionate about writing. Her poems have appeared in the Spring 2020 Issue of Muddy River Poetry Review. Having spent her growing up years in small towns of northern India, she currently lives in Bangalore with her scientist husband.