By Nadeera Taneja
Even today the storm still rages with no sign of abatement,
Lost in this forever downpour of rain and snow,
Eloquent in a way the mistress still stands, Awaited to be awakened, by a shock of sorrow.
Evermore you will hear the din of torrent and thunder,
Forevermore the helmsman will sail through the storm,
Amidst the pandenomium the mistress stands in a dress,
Her children not ready to mourn.
For a tale of treachery awaiting to unfold,
As the lord does what he must for posterity, But shan't we all?
None want to be seen as an illiterate commodity,
Waltzing to the path of our own downfall.
Thy want all, thy want none,
Mays't the destitute reach prosperity quoth she,
But god forbid she to tells lies,
For truth was hers to keep.
Yet in her eyes, her tender guise, didst seem a serpent deep.
Her wealth, her care, her silken hand, he scorned as hollow grace,
And cast her heart like shifting sand into oceans face.
Yet she, so pure, wouldst ne’er deceive, no falseness in her tongue,
But in his rage, he couldst not leave, her praises left unsung.
The mocking world didst could his sight, till envy poisoned true,
And in that dark, storm-laden night, his treachery he knew.
With hands so cold, he took her arm, and led her to the brink,
Her cries unheard, her soft alarm, her life began to sink.
The waves didst rise, the ship didst roll, as down she fell to sea,
And with her, sank his tortured soul, bound evermore to be.
For as her body met the deep, the skies didst tear apart,
And now the storm, in sorrow's sweep, doth mirror his foul heart.
No peace, no shore, shall he e'er find his fate forever sealed,
For in the tempest's ruthless wind, his doom was now revealed.
"O fate most foul" the heavens cry, as thunder vends the night,
For beneath the sky of tempest high, her spirit taketh flight.
The waves, they didst not mourn her tall, nor winds did mercy lend,
The mistress, lost to ocean's call, her love doth find no end.
The widow, lost, still haunts the wave, her love a mournful wail,
While he, in torment, finds his grave, a mariner grown pale.
So sail he must, on seas unknown, through thunder's endless din,
A man who reaped what he had sown, his guilt the storm within.
Thus mark ye all who seet in greed, ye all who take love for deceit,
For none shall prosper from such deed, nor find their hearts complete.
The sea remembers, the sky shall cry, and justice shall descend,
For those who live by treachery die, with none to mourn their end.