The Unseen Abnegated

Stealthy movements in and around,

Heedful not to make the slightest sound.

obscured to the naked eye.

No audible utterances, no whispers, no cry.

The citizens of the supernatural,

Perceived only by avian and animal.

Rendered a myth, blasphemy they say,

Unknown to you, around you they play.

Your schedule, your thoughts,

your experiences and moments,

They see through it all,

with conscious clairvoyance.

Your visions in sleep and your day-dreaming,

Is naught but what the spirits are weaving.

Inflicting your thoughts however their cares,

Their carnivals of malice are your nightmares.

An old lady, a hound or perhaps young lad,

Someone's sibling, son or maybe dad.

Disturbed, decaying or in dementia,

Profuse bleeding, gashes or protruding hernia.

Their purpose has not seen clear definition.

For now in between worlds, they see inhibition.

Prying into the minds, digging deep.

Standing still beside, blinklessly watching you sleep.

Inaudible moans, most around you the same,

Incessant whispers calling your name.

Watching and learning, though not seen,

In witnessing your every move they are keen.

The motives of evil, unknown to themselves,

Yet right beside you the omniscient spirit dwells.

When will they pass over? When are we to understand?

Maybe they're here, like right now, just to hold your hand...

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Harish Iyengaar

18th October, 2010