Demons Below The Floor Poem by Procyon Mukherjee

I am sleeping in the attic

With some pillows beside

And the roaming darkness is brooding

On the skylights above



It isn't the starry night that Van Gogh had it painted

But the soot of black smashing in the glass

That the meadows will make-believe

Looking up, breathing and sighing



I can hear the demons below the floor

That knocks the eggs I kept

It was for their well-being

And some gestures of faith



The dreams are interrupted with the sullen reminder

As the straws are binding my feet

As if a caress is waiting in winsome thought

Or is it the demon below the floor



It is not even a slumber, or a careless thought

That the cat on the mattress whines

The rug is sliding, the whispers rise to wallow

The astute is preparing to dance