By Swastika Sheel Srivastava
Every day in the evening,
From my window, I could see
A beautiful tree with just a swing
The tree was large,
And was just as gorgeous,
As the little girl that used to play on the swing
At the exact same time, six-fifteen
I used to get a cup of coffee,
Sit by the window,
And watch her play on the swing
So happily
Days passed by,
And one day I called my mum,
Who used to live not as far away from me
I talked to her for long,
And then told her about the girl
My mum did not say anything for a while,
Then asked me if I wasn’t lying
She told me there is no one who lived nearby,
Let alone a little girl of merely four or five
I was stunned but tried to remain calm.
I told her, someone may have come to live on the nearby farm
On the beautiful hill, beside my house
I told her it was fine and ended the call.
The next few days,
I looked outside my window,
At the little girl on the swing
With my mother’s words revolving in my head.
I tried to convince myself,
That everything was alright.
The following day, something happened,
Something I can’t explain how
I was working late till the evening,
It was nearly ten at night
I went near the window
To look at the moon that shone above
But to my surprise,
The little girl was still playing
Swinging on the swing
Back and forth slowly
I opened my window,
And called out to the girl,
Asked her to go home,
What shocked me was.
I didn’t see her leave,
I didn’t see her disappear
But she was just,
Not there
In the bright moonlight,
All I could see was,
The tree and the empty swing,
Which was still swinging the same,
As it did each day from six-fifteen
To seven-thirty.
By Swastika Sheel Srivastava
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