Posted by: Ron DuBour | March 11, 2016

WITCHCRAFT~by Indira Sadanandan


 

 

WITCHCRAFT

A dim light among the small crowd
On the heap of the burning dry leaves
In that tribal village corner.
A witchcraft was being performed there
The sorceror rose to his feet with
Widespread hands and read over them
In broken Sanskrit ,his prayers and counseling.
All became silent and motionless.
The excitement and shouting became
More and more vociferous.
The women among them became pale
And began to tremble waving their long hair.
Two three drunkards were walking to and fro
With faltering steps.
The sorceror,towards the end of his speech
Squealed like a pig.
Every one began to praise him
In flattering comments of which he
Became elite like a poet in his native language
And only with a narrow circle to move
In the public.
And in the end ,the drunkards in
A group voice ,asked him to shut his mouth.
The sorceror fell down with a cry
Flat on his nose.

A dim light among the small crowd
On the heap of the burning dry leaves
In that tribal village corner.
A witchcraft was being performed there
The sorceror rose to his feet with
Widespread hands and read over them
In broken Sanskrit ,his prayers and counseling.
All became silent and motionless.
The excitement and shouting became
More and more vociferous.
The women among them became pale
And began to tremble waving their long hair.
Two three drunkards were walking to and fro
With faltering steps.
The sorceror,towards the end of his speech
Squealed like a pig.
Every one began to praise him
In flattering comments of which he
Became elite like a poet in his native language
And only with a narrow circle to move
In the public.
And in the end ,the drunkards in
A group voice ,asked him to shut his mouth.
The sorceror fell down with a cry
Flat on his nose.


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