Page 265 - E-Magazine 2016-17
P. 265
THE TOMBSTONE
The whole city was enveloped in mist A bird sang a melancholy tune
Where one couldn’t see his own fist, When it awoke after the passing of
night.
It was right at the crack of dawn
When the dew glistened on the lawn.
Across the street scurried a cat
Hot on the heels of a poor rat,
It stopped, looked about and then ceased to
linger.
For it was not its business to look at the
hooded figure.
The maiden wiped away her tears
After confirming her worst fears,
She knelt beside the gravestone
Under which the dead one lay all alone.
After a few hours, the city came to life
The mysterious hooded figure walked on
And the sun hit the mist like a knife,
Only upon reaching the graveyard was the While leaving, the mist had a last peek
hood pulled aside,
And lingered awhile on the lifeless
To reveal a maiden’s face as lovely as a fawn
maiden’s cheek.
The mark of sorrow, it couldn’t hide.
With but a few strides, she reached a grave
The tombstone was cold and glaringly white, SAMBUDDHA RAY VIII-B
