Requescat by Oscar Wilde
Tread lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.
All her bright golden hair
Tarnished with rust,
She that was young and fair
Fallen to dust.
Lily-like, white as snow,
She hardly knew
She was a woman, so
Sweetly she grew.
Coffin-board, heavy stone,
Lie on her breast,
I vex my heart alone,
She is at rest.
Peace, peace, she cannot hear
Lyre or sonnet,
All my life's buried here,
Heap earth upon it.
Siama looked up at the little bit of sky that could be seen through the canopy of trees, and smiled as the clouds momentarily unblocked the moon, thanks to a light breeze. In that brief instant Siama was able to glance at his watch, and realized that just three minutes remained for his lips to feel her gentle touch...
It was her smile he had fallen in love with, the moment their eyes had met. Her laughter was as gentle as the flight of a butterfly, and her voice as sweet as the nectar it craved. She had stood along the river Teesta with a camera in hand, and Siama, on its other bank, watching her walk across the pebbles and the sand. One thing lead to another and the two soon became much more than just friends. Unfortunately for Siama, his village brethren were unable to comprehend.
“She is just a tourist, and you a poor village boy! In her hands, don’t you get it? You’ll be a mere toy!” But Siama refused to listen to the elders of his tribe. He had loved truly and wasn’t in the mood for advice.
Siama looked at his watch once again and realized that just two minutes were left. His heart suddenly began to beat as fervently as it had, the night they had last met...
“At the stroke of midnight, by this very tree,” said Siama, “for you I shall wait”
“I agree my love” replied Jyotsna, “we must run away before it’s too late!”
Siama surveyed the forest around him and listened with an attentive ear – a frog croaked, a cicada sang, but no footsteps he could hear. His mind almost overcome with tension, Siama somehow concentrated on his watch with attention…
The hands had finally met and the moment was at last here, and in a split second was replaced from his heart traces of any fear. “Jyotsna!” he exclaimed and jumped forward to embrace, and the moment his eyes closed, he saw his lovers face...
Her eyes were as arresting as the petals of a flower wilted; her smile as serene as a candle that had long melted. “It must have been the landslide that crushed her head.” … “I’m sorry” declared the elder “Jyotsna is dead.”
Siama looked at his watch once again - the appointed hour had passed, yet Jyotsna had not come as promised the day they had met last. His head bowed, his eyes moist, Siama began to walk away. The forest had yet again refused him his desired take away…
Life fellow travelers, isn’t always about the journey’s end. It’s as much about the roads you travel by, that may never allow you to come back to them once again. Siama had promised to wait as long as it takes, which is why he keeps going back to the forest over and over again. It’s a journey that begins, continues, and then abruptly ends. Yet the moment it stops, it starts once again.