published: (updated: )
by Harshvardhan J. Pandit
His hands quivered with the sinned.
Voices speaking to him in the wind.
Clinging to his body, a cold sweat.
His hands holding a naked threat.
Be strong, she whispered into his ears.
The pain will dull, so will dry these tears.
Get up, she said holding his hand.
To walk, you first need to stand.
Live, she said looking into his eyes.
Accept the pain, but ignore the cries.
Love me, she wished his heart.
My death cannot do us apart.
And yet the pain would not go away.
The thing in his hand did not sway.
He pierced his heart with the same knife.
The one with which he had killed his wife.