ODE Poem: The ballad of the incomplete love, by Yashika Singh

—

‘Twas the second hour of dawn’s gray light,
Her voice, a whisper, drifted on the breeze.
She moved in shadows, silent, out of sight,
Her ashen face, so pale, so gray.

“Is she a dream?” I breathed, a hushed demand,
Her hair, unbound, cascaded like a fall.
Her white dress, tinged with red, a ghostly band,
Almost as a specter summoned by my call.

“Beware!” I cried, as I rushed her near,
She turned, her gaze so calm, so strangely cold.
Her lips, a curve, a smile both dark and clear,
Then she faded swiftly, her tale left untold.

I turned back to my lonely, weathered place,
My thoughts consumed, with no certain release.
The wind’s wild howl ripped through the space,
As if even the mighty stars recoiled in fright.

Her eyes, I knew, held something not of earth,
They shone like suns, yet lacked a warming touch.
Was she escaping, longing to depart,
Or just a phantom, born of my heart?

That night drew on, an age of restless dread,
Her haunting song, a whisper in my ear.
Alluring, yet untouched by love, instead,
A hush that shivered through my bones.

The sun’s brief journey, a forgotten dream,
Time moved relentlessly in a constant flow.
She came and went, a vision, it would seem,
Yet bound to something deep below.

Through countless moons, my love for her took root,
My heart, a captive, willingly enslaved.
Beneath the moon’s soft glow, my love I vowed,
A vow that lingered, cold and grave.

Her expression spoke as though she knew,
But how could I tell if she accepted it too?
She stumbled and fled into the night’s dark hue,
And I pursued, my fate askew.

I chased her form until my lungs gave way,
A gasp, a cry, a scream of pure despair.
Ah, the wail!
There she knelt, hands tangled in her hair.

I called her name, a whisper on the air,
A name unknown, a secret yet concealed.
I knelt beside her, lost in deep despair,
As silent truths at last were revealed.

Her eyes, a twilight’s blend of dark and light,
Held hope and fear, yet somehow appeared dead.
Piercing my soul to know if love was right,
Or if my mere longing lied instead.

Slowly beneath the pale moon’s glow,
Her form began to twist and change.
No angel, nor the maiden I’d known,
But a soul starved, lost in love’s cruel cage.

My scream tore through the silence between us,
I ran and ran—lost in despair.
Miles stretched on, unyielding, endless—
Yet still, I felt her grip deter.

My vision blurred, the world turned still,
A chilling weight pressed into me.
I lay there, frozen, gripped by chill,
Drenched in blood—but none of it mine.

There she sat, the face I loved,
My words now strangled, lost in air.
Frozen, fearing to be spoken—
For the demon toys with prey in glare.

My gaze fell upon heads, bowed and still,
Encircling the rock—an infant’s grave.
“Is it thee? Why dost thou do this?” I cried,
Then, with a voice like shattered glass, she cried—

“Long ago, in lands where dawn did gleam,
I gave my heart, a foolish dream.
I knew not his love was but a lie,
For he sought only my flesh to buy.”

—

“I cried in vain, but he stained my soul,
I fled, but none heeded my toll.
My tears fill oceans, endless, wide,
While he, untouched, in joy did bide.”

—

“He tore my heart, my spirit broke,
They cast me out, with stone they spoke.
My womb, a mark of his vile seed,
Yet still they stoned me in my need.”

—

“No ear to hear, no hand to save,
My cries, my child’s, both claimed by grave.
Did I despise it, or love it so?
Was I a mother, or a sorrowed woe?”

—

“Lady, what dost thou seek now?
These men did not spill your blood, nor I.
My hands are clean, my heart is true—
Not I, nor they, are thy curse to defy.”

—

“Then die!”
Her sword, sharp as vengeance, poised at my throat—
“I strike thee down, so none shall ever know
The torment I endured. No more shall he reign,
For none shall suffer as I did in vain!”

—

“Thy criminal is long dead, fair lady.
Thou art safe now. Might I have the honor to know thy name?
I wish to remember thee, if it be so.”

—

She spake not a word, but gazed upon the blood that dripped from my neck.
‘I shall protect thee, fair one, for my love is true.
The heavens bear witness, my heart yearns for thy soul.'”

—

The sword did not cease, yet no pain I felt,
Only sorrow, for my love was left unproven.
My vision blurred, not from fear, but from tears,
And hers fell too, upon the ground, as though in mourning.

The blood reached to my lips,
Yet I did not hold my life dear.
My only regret was her loneliness, or so I claimed.
For in her eyes, I saw the sorrow I could not tame.

I summoned my final breath, and with it, I did plead,
‘If thou art too lonely, come to me in hell,
For without thee, no heaven I seek. My love for thee, forever true, indeed.'”

The last I heard from her was:
“Love is but false,’’she spake with sorrowed breath.
I faded into oblivion, and so did the love she sought of old