He thinks she’s asleep,
As He tiptoes towards their divan.
Gently moving the gossamer curtain that separates the two of them,
He leans in,
Takes hold of her hand softly,
Places it to his lips and sighs.
I see the slight glint of a teardrop in the fire light.
He touches the iron handle of the door.
He is ready to leave.
The slight stir of satin sheets,
The tender gurgle of a baby
Stops him.
He turns,
And looks at him for the last time.
The baby smiles,
He smiles,
They have parted.
He pushes the iron handle of the door
and takes a step outside.
I hear the doleful mourn of the wind,
I hear the distant melancholia brought to life
By an unaccompanied flute.
The moon, so serene yet so dismal –
Feels the pain of this inevitable goodbye.
She shines her brightest,
paving the way for Him,
As He mounts His steed
And embarks on His journey;
To find the missing element of Humanity.
– Ayodhya Bandara Perera