Beyond The Wards

By Keerthana K

May the folk bury us together,

My tombstone placed next to yours.

It is irony,

That despite all my efforts for a single glance at you were vain in life,

It is in death that the stakes are lower and chance high.

I shall claw my hand through the dirt to hold yours.

I shall clasp onto the garments that you are embodied in.

I will not let the crawlers take it away.

And as we vanish in saprophytic fashion,

The sand will be left with memories—

The echoes of my maiden stare set on yours.

At twilight,

The wisp of a touch between our fingers,

Frustrated, yearning glances between lovers—

Distance that played the interloper.

And thick prohibition cut my limbs off

Before I could embrace you,

And forced you somewhere miles away.

In death, all is fair; nothing is forbidden.

Death shall let this affair rest in peace.

By Keerthana K