On His Tomb-stone  

Her long brown mane,

Joyful eyes and rosy cheeks

A beauty unmatched by her peers around,

Lured by simplicity, blessed with grace.

 

Meekly and quietly she leans on the Tomb-stone

Watching from afar the crowd go by;

Wrapped in her thoughts, motionless and calm

Awaits the release of her soulful tears!

 

She belongs to the matrilineal clan

Infamously given to the tantrums of life-

Defeated dreams, unsung stories of the heart

Seeking patiently for fetters to loosen.

 

It never pours but showers loud,

Divine echoes stilled in the rain

Freezes her for moments in spaces and whispers,

Remoulds the world nearer to her heart’s wishes.

 

Life has gone much ahead of times,

From tottering between timeless heartbeats and the magical promises-

Her Love, her Life was but...but a victim of war;

If only for once He could fool death to lose!

 

Meekly and quietly, she leans on His Tomb-stone

Looking for a constant wind to fill her sail:

Attracted by the ordinary not exotic,

Perhaps, an understatement of her beauty and poise.

 

Perfume of memories from her past

Her love tale remains unsaid,

The picture of her Hero never framed

While she lends a ear to the fleeting moments of undisclosed humour.

 

Her eyes swells up with flashes from the behind,

A sole escapade from the real and factual

To that instant when in His arms she laid bare,

Alas! She remains an open prisoner of her thoughts.

 

On His Tomb-stone she leans still’

Untouched, unmoved, unheard, unseen

Her tears are now easy, sorrowful and loud

In shapes of her loneliness too deep within.

 

Upon her thoughts-filled head she now moves

And walks away from His Tomb-stone with swollen eyes,

Putting forward the best version of herself-

In remembrance of things, yet to come!

                                -Mercy Khaute