Are they real?

Are they real?
Are they true?
Then why do they pursue the evil,
Never revealing themselves to the crowd afraid
Oh when will we know the answers laid
For the questions we asked for centuries and decades
Why do they have to fear us always
When will we be able to roam freely around the lonely hallway
Oh when will we not have no more darkness in our way
And all the haunted tales will be just myths and beliefs
Fom the good old days.
Are they fake?
Then why do we call them the "roaming dead"
Half alive and walking past our desks
Making the night nothing but a plead for the day
Oh they give us goosebumps and we start to shake
Fearing for how long will we be awake.
They are those invisible spirits hidden beneath the bed
Or peeking form the windows impelled
Oh they make our hearts filled with curiosity and fear bled
As if we were just about to be beheaded.
But are these true and are they really that bad
Are they really glad to accompany the sad
Where they once a small daughter's dad
Or where they once a lovely mother's lad.
How inhuman can they be
Or are we just surrounded by disbelief
All questions are the key
To the chamber of the deceased tree
As all can agree
That no human can know the answers with a guarantee
Till they drink the blood's tree
And touch the knee
Of the god of the deceased.
-Aandaleeb Mukherjee
©aandaleeb