The dogs have gone berserk hooting frost at the eerie moon,

And nibbling the muslin of silent slumber,

The cold sheen of the wintry night spreads its mantle over trees and grasses alike,

The warm house puts on the shroud of desolation as death toll escalates,

The graveyard lays more slabs,

White and washed with moon- blanched commiseration,

The conundrum in frenzied dance with red eyes and drifting hair,

And its beats ripped apart with the query,

Does reality rock the fleeting cradle or permeate the grave in infinity’s womb?  

……………Dr. Fathema Begum