The Solitary Ghost

Alone I stand,

By the door of my house,

See the kids playing outside,

Wish they'd call me too.

They hate me, I think sometimes.

They look at me, feigning ignorance,

But I see their smiles,

The mirth in their games, the joy in their frolic.

I often try to go to them,

But I get scared..."what if they don't like me?"

Which wasn't as obscure as I'd like it to be.

I had seen them point towards me and talk in whispers.

Sadly, they used to be loud enough for me to hear them.

I had heard one say, "Mother told me not to play here."

"Why? ",was the question asked.

"She says that a little boy,probably ten,had died here.

But his ghost still lives on." I shake my head in despair, at the ridiculous excuse just made.

I have been living here since I don't know when.

But I never came across a ghost. That too of age ten.