Even when its supposed to be silent
I hear noises,
The cries of a little baby,
The coos of it’s mother.
The howling dog lurking behind the shadow,
Waiting on its prey to make a move.
The faint distorted sound
From the tv, next room.
The fluttering of a broken light
A couple corridors below.
The whirring sound of a water pipe,
And the screech of a chair
Pulled against a door.
The part that haunts me, my nights
Is that I live on the ground floor.
If its the underworld I hear,
Then am I the target,
Of it’s next move?
Why would it make itself audible now?
When For years the voices were
stuck songs.
Why had silence now flawed?
For why, I ever begged
To know,
Who was at the helm of
The feared below?
Pratyush Singh 12th
DPS KALYANPUR, Kanpur
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