the day ends,
the clock chimes ten, eleven and on…

a mysterious isle beckons, anew,
shrouded in mist,
the delicate daisy, faded away,
under cypress shadows,
the fragrant rosemary, withered on the ground
as blackthorn’s thorns, pierced the air around.
the majestic oak, with strength so true,
falter, and fell,
as yew’s darkness shone through.
the lavender, with gifts so rare,
trampled down, without a care.
the resilient willow,
with flexibility so fine
bent and broken,
the prickly and poisonous,
deceived and thrived

three witches weave a spell of might
at the entrance in eerie light,
virtue is foul, and vice is fair,
by their dark decree.
they stir the cauldron, with cackles and glee,
bringing up the settled grains,
their laughter echoes, as they conjure and play,
they mix and match, in their wicked way.

in the isle’s midst,
a solitary tower
pierces the sky so high,
adorned with hemlock, belladonna, and
eye-catching cactus thorns.

an oleander’s reign, where darkness holds sway,
nobody can survive, not even for a day,
the creator too would struggle, to endure the pain,
the bravest warriors find their strength in vain.
feet would falter, on the treacherous ground,
and crumble, beneath the devil’s crown,
leaving two choices, in this desolate land,
to emerge as air, and fly away, to a distant strand,
or to give up and rest forevermore, in a peaceful stand.

around, shapeshifters roam,
with smiles so wide and fair,
their gaze chills bone, wrecks the nerves.

above, a hanging bell tolls,
with a mournful, sorrowful sound,
callous words echo all around, without bound.

behind, giggles and laughter echo,
a haunting, ghostly refrain,
a talebearer appears;
spinning yarns, “hear ya, hear ya,”
with a mocking refrain,
a sagacious wizard, with a wry grin.

afar, an angelic apparition,
serene and still as stone,
on a broken wood alone.
eyes wander;
heads bowed low, in a guise of grace,
a masquerade to hide;
dangerous tendrils, creeping close,
with a fatal hold within.

below, drizila, anastasia, and ursula
clasp the feet,
a mystic grip,
envious web entangles.

a hypnagogic jerk; awakened,
a dream that was…
a haunting mysterious isle…

…

Beena E. S is an Assistant Professor in the Department of English at Nesamony Memorial Christian College, Marthandam. She has published a novel titled “Thorns of Love.” Additionally, her numerous poems have featured in reputable platforms, including Indian Periodicals, RIC journal, Pashyantee and the Wing word Long List 2023. One of her poems also appeared in the December 2023 issue of Beetle magazine.