beneath murky depths belonging to misty-white shores
yonder winding tunnels, seaside cliffs and rocky shoals
dark sorcery stirs and billows
with wafts of thick ocean-blue mist.

from the wailing howl of a horn fashioned out of a leviathan,
it's bellow gone unheard from those above,
an enveloping curtain sweeps forward
concealing what lurks within.

up the mellow slopes of hills, across empty fields
in the wee hours of the morning,
sorcerous mist passes unnoticed behind a sodden glass window
while you, the provider and protector of your family,
sleep under a thick curtain of unrealized dreams.

you find yourself unable to warn the others by shouting:
"help! the naga are coming!"
for by the time you are roused from your sleep it is too late:
the naga are already here.