The Witch

Inexplicably I long for them.
The fingers so white, they shine.
It's eerie, but the sheer oddity of it is mesmerizing.
I feel like a moth, just before it feels the heat from the fire
When Death is just one flutter of a wing away.
But like the moth, I keep going
Hoping to touch those fingers, I extend my hands
But those aren't real, and I am falling down in darkness
The moon and the sun are imprisoned between those fingers.
Like a ring she wears them.
Her palm is full of esoteric symbols that I cannot understand
I wondered once what they are.
She smiled, "I use them to cast spells."
The long nails resemble the evil women in fairy tales
The devil women who were burned at the stake
Witches have been misunderstood forever.
They never hurt people.
They transport you to a land of delight.
We hate them because we have to return to the real world
And the real world is a cold, dead place.
(Comment : This is born out of love, or rather loss of love, but the poem may not look like a love poem. But I can't put it somewhere else. Forgive me.)