It’s cold, dark, rainy.
Where did the sun go?
I look at the sky in question,
But it just stares gloomily back at me.
I wring my hands, purse my lips,
And I pace around my chamber.
Is this an omen, a sign,
Telling me not to go?
But I must go.
I must leave.
I cannot stay here anymore.
He must be worried about me now.
He will wonder where I am.
“Be it rain or shine, you must come,” he’d said.
“Or I will have to come looking for you.”
Oh, but he cannot come here!
I must go.
I must leave.
I can’t let anyone see me.
I hide my face in the hood of my cloak
As I step out of the house, cautiously.
As though in protest, the sky opens up
With a bolt of lightning – startling me momentarily.
Within seconds, I’m drenched,
But I cannot stop now.
I head out on foot, shivering –
Whether out of cold or fear, I do not know.
It takes long, but I reach the place,
Drenched from head to toe.
He’s waiting for me in his carriage –
He’s waiting for me.
My heart swells when I catch sight of him –
He’s the only one I trust now.
He pulls me close as I step into the carriage,
Encircling me in his arms.
I settle down in quiet contentment,
Knowing that the danger has passed.
I am finally free now,
Finally free to be with him.
It is only then that I hear the quiet, metallic sound,
And feel the dagger pressing into my neck.
But what – I have no time to think
As I feel the sharp slash across my throat.
Intense pain.
Too much blood.
Numbness creeping along my body.
The last thing I remember is that cold gleam in his eyes.
And then, there’s nothing.
- - Rhea. B
22.08.10
(Honestly, this started out as just a poem written on the rainy, gloomy weather. Don't know how it managed to turn into some sort of a medieval tragic story.)
