Bride Of Death

By Anshuman Das

I sit here, mourning, the loss of

much that is dear, as dear as the

night, as dear as death itself. 

I am a Mariana, ageing away in

my moated grange looking upon you, or trying to.

But, unlike Mariana, this is but time, 

it shall pass as all things must pass and

when you come, you shall be but 

a Bride of Death, the death of my love

and dear, the dead, the living are only guilty for,

The Bride of Death lives. If you don’t lay down 

your love, you shall become the Bride of the death

of my love, as love shall pass, you murderer with 

hands soiled by blood, with eyes the colour of death,

and a bed fit for the House of Hades.

I sit here and wait in my sorry lament,

wait for time to perish, and once the time fades away and is forgotten, 

and once the arrows of silvery rain fall upon my brow, 

I will stand liberated from the love I feel,

the love that thrives in silence, the sweet sound

of silence that prevents hurt. 

Oh my sweet Bride of Death, in your presupposition you die.

When you become the Bride of Death, you will drown in

your widowhood, and death lies only four steps away,

it will not be easy to sail across the sea of troubles,

you widow, you Bride of Death. 

By Anshuman Das