THE WITCHING HOUR

THE WITCHING HOUR

She ventures out at midnight,
Cinderella returning from the ball,
A woman within that speaks to me,
A child still playing with her doll.

No one has seen this woman-child,
Some would call her mad,
But to me, she is my own twin self,
So lonely and so sad.

This world does not listen,
To hear her silent song,
She hides in shimmering shadows,
Away from the hardened throng.

Sometimes she sings for me,
Just for me, my own,
And I can hear that lovely voice,
That could burn and melt a stone.

No one cares to see her,
She prefers to live alone,
For in this aloneness,
She has found her home.

Do not try to look for her,
Do not pry so deep,
For if you wake the child up,
How can the woman sleep?

Sujata

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