There was a painting,
Its painter long begone.
Its beauty was breathtaking,
Tough its origin was unknown.
You bought it or not,
It was all your fate.
The painting’s beauty,
Was just a bait.
The painting was of deads,
Its legend mystifieid.
Whosoever took it,
Pretty soon died.
And this is how it started,
In a deep forested bunglow.
Adorning the walls of the house,
Was this painting hanging low.
Then on a fateful night,
Suddenly went out the lights.
And then this painting of deads,
Started to glow fiery red.
There were four of us,
Gaping at the painting of death
Whish now showed a girl under a wardrobe,
Dying and gasping for breath.
And so it happened,
In the painting’s recreated scene.
One of us died,
And the colour changed from red to green.
Scared, frightened and confused.
We ran from room to room.
But the painting made it,
The night of our doom.
And yet the painting changed,
With another horrid scene.
And now it was a girl nailed,
With glass (pieces) all over he skin.
Likewise the mirror broke,
And in blood everything was soaked.
Leaving us only two,
Terrified thinkng what to do?
This time glowing dull blue,
The painting wanted to kill us too.
And throwing it in bonfire I,
Burnt it to final goodbye.
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Comments about this poem (Horror Story by Aprajita Rana )
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