The Ghosts’ Autumnal Fair

by Ngo Binh Anh Khoa

The full moon casts a web of silver
Below, where naked branches shiver,
And wind-stirred leaves all, murmuring, quiver
Amid the thickened mist; no sliver
Of warmth is present in the air;
Those spectral threads from heaven shed,
Like puppet strings, on tombstones spread
And raise the spirits of the dead
When comes the Ghosts’ Autumnal Fair.

The graveyard’s silence soon is broken
By utterances quietly spoken
Between the shades by moonbeams woken;
A whirlwind wild, their sights betoken.
They gracefully glide across the air;
Soft squeaks from out the swaying trees
And hoots midst rustling canopies
Join the nocturnal melodies
When comes the Ghosts’ Autumnal Fair.

Figures from eras past and present–
With royals, nobles, slaves and peasants–
There mingle midst the luminescence
Of moon and stars strewn on the Heavens
While distant wolf-songs fill the air–
A show of strange, breathtaking fashion;
If not for their complexion ashen,
Who’d think they’re specters with such passion
When comes the Ghosts’ Autumnal Fair.

Between the lofty and the lowly,
There’s no division; all are wholly
Equal; their every mortal folly,
And worldly want, and vice unholy
Have long dispersed like dust midair.
Once all their vital breaths were spent,
And bodies ‘neath the soil were sent,
All earthly ties they’d weaved were rent.
Only in Death are all things fair.

They dance on, fervently performing
From movements slow to paces storming
Throughout the night until the morning
In celebration–and in mourning;
Nostalgia haunts the silenced air.
The chill dissolves as light shines on
The graveyard at the break of dawn;
The trees are still, the dancers gone–
Until the next Autumnal Fair.

(Originally published in Spectral Realms No. 17: Summer 2022 by Hippocampus Press. Link: https://www.hippocampuspress.com/journals/spectral-realms/spectral-realms-no.-17)