𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞

 

(Heroic Quatrain with Iambic Pentameter)

She wept in pain when no one saw,
Beneath the moon’s indifferent glow,
Each breath a war, each night a claw,
That tore her soul in silent woe.

For six long months, the bed her cage,
Yet still she smiled to soothe my heart.
I read her tales to still the rage,
That grief and helplessness impart.

But when she sleeps, the demons wake,
And anguish floods her fragile frame.
Her cries—like knives—they make me break,
And curse the dark, though none to blame.

I’d trade my life to bear her cross,
To wear her pain upon my skin.
I’d take her wounds, her every loss,
If fate would let her rise and win.

Yet I’m no god, no savior, king,
Just flesh and tears and burning soul.
I hold her hand through suffering,
While praying time may make her whole.

I dare not rage at Heaven’s gate,
Though questions drown my trembling mind.
For love is strong and will not wait,
It clings to hope it’s yet to find.

O love, fight on—though frail and torn,
Though nights grow long and light seems far.
The day will come, a golden morn,
Where vows are whispered under stars.

And when that moment comes to be,
No pain shall mar what we have known.
You’ll stand and smile and walk to me,
And I will say, "At last, you’ve come home."

Place - Cherrapunji
Year - 1996