Open the Door

🔏5

The gate is open.
We crossed the arch:
Quallete Sisters' Abbey.

Through the heavy mist,
The abbey cleared
To our vision.
To tread after the arch,
Was a bridge small,
Over a lake innate.
The lake,
Above the mound,
Turned a wonder.

A huge edifice -
The Quallete's Abbey.
Slanting roofs.
Three tiers high.
Quallete nuns
Crossed the yard.
A defunct,
Yet alive a building.
Over the slopes,
Were assembled many -
Different distinct groups,
Lectured adeptly
By different ditto nuns.
We get stares
Curious, stout.
Seldom did I care.

We approached,
The utmost front
Of the abbey huge.
Over the veranda,
Ground floor,
Passes a lady,
Distinct and odd
From all the other
Dull folks seen here.
A girl than a lady.
Beautiful. Luring.
But, I have seen
Prettier cutes.
'Shivangi:'
I heard someone call.
And she turned toward.
Shivangi.
Nice a name.

'Who are you?'
A scared voice.
A passerby nun.

'May I meet the
Head of this abbey,'
Said I.

Seconds three,
Did she pause,
Staring my eyes.
Poor she,
She didn't realize
How dead my
Right eye was.
Out of my eyes,
Did she study
Something scary.
'Come,'
Her voice quivered,
Yet sharp and stout.

She walked.
I followed that
Butterball nun.
Her fleshy haunch
Entertained our
Dull walk in vain.

We walked.
A deserted
Narrow
Pass way.
Floored of wood.
Lit by wicks.

The passage
Ended at a
Royal wooden door.
Safely secured.
And it split
To the either sides,
Thereafter.
She pushed by strain
The heavy door in,
A few inches.
And that fat nun
Slid in,
I wonder how,
And left us out.
She didn't let
Even a small peep in.

Seconds seven passed,
And I see,
The door seals well.
I heard from in,
Not a small scrap
Of their solemn talks.

Minutes two passed,
And the door
Was opened;
Not ajar,
But the widest wide.
The butterball stood,
Her eyes frozen round.
I readied my hands
To catch those balls;
Soon they would drop.

'In,'
Said she,
Her stout voice
Frozen and faltering.
She stepped aside,
Gave us way,
And before the table,
In that cabinet,
Sat one lean figure;
Her name Darlene.
'Sister Darlene,
Mother, Quallete's Abbey,'
I read the plate
Kept over the table.

Her eyes pierced me,
And that drew me
Faster closer to her.

'Be seated,'
Gesticulated her head;
Lean and skinny.

We sat.

And prior to
Every hi and hello,
She said something.
Something that froze
The hard Hawk's heart.
Something that froze
The stubborn Hawk's breath.
And that something was,

Yes, that's the end. What was that something? Hmmm... Nothing much happened in this chapter, right? But, the end was good enough to make this a chapter, I believe.
Hhaha
Is that hatred you have to this author? Stopping this chapter here since it turned a bit long.

Sorry, for lying.
The poem continues.

'Why open the door?'