#Title

The ghost of Arun Das
PHOTO: MAISHA SYEDA
AFIFA ALAM RAISA
Raise no alarm, if on a night dimly lit,
In a village far away, an apparition flies past.
The silhouette brews no evil; it never did.
It’s the ghost of Arun Das: lean, petite, and hardly eight.
Every now and then,
He flees the crematorium and stops by a grave.
Be brave, if on the street dark and grim,
You find a second soul by his side.
With the ghost of Ali Asad, he illuminates the night.
Slowly they glide
To the remnants of a burned house.
Don’t shift; they always come back.
Stand still
Till you watch them bolt through the back door
With sweets in each hand, stolen from the altar:
A devotee’s indifference, a small price to pay.
Find the imps in the forest next,
As their giggles fill the air
Just like old times.
Laugh along; God took no offense.
With the days in flesh gone by,
Let the ghosts rule the night.
Soon their wails will shred the sky;
They will mourn the murder of a million smiles,
The lost days of sweet mischief,
Knowing no harm and yet being killed.
Be afraid now,
Be a little afraid,
As from mosque to temple they run
To find which god the rioters pleased.
Afifa Alam Raisa i s a book reviewer and an undergraduate student pursuing Bachelor’s of English at East West University. Apart from being a cricket freak, she is a voracious reader and a passionate writer. She knows very little about herself.