The curfew is pass time,
My shorts are already dirty with slime,
I am running through the woods in snow
Melted snow drips from the leaves, I should’ve known.
I have to be at house at least by nine.
Or else dad will kill me because of the time,
Breathless and sweaty, still I run,
Can’t stop, had too much fun.
I fall over the roots of cedar,
I get up and run faster as it slowed my radar.
I hear noises behind me,
I still run but I do see.
There is my father with many men,
I am relieved to see my brother Ben.
He will protect me from father’s wrath
In lanterns light my father’s face bath.
I call them but they do no hear,
I try to rush near.
They are halted and huddled in a circle,
There is something their bodies encircle.
I go near them and call the still do not hear,
Then I stop dead as I see someone dying,
Near the cedar tree.
In woods? Maybe I ran past her.
I’ve seen her somewhere.
Her life is leaving her bloody face but she smiles,
Her breathing shallow as if she has ran through miles.
My forehead tingles, I touch there
It is dirty blood, dried on the hair.
My knees give away and I fall next to the known face
Who is taking her last breath.
I lean over and she whispers: On time!
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Comments about this poem (Deadly curfew. by shreya nair )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(22 March 1941 -)
(30 October 1885 – 1 November 1972)
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