Image courtesy: Printerest.

A gusty squall rushed across
The engulfing dreary eve,
Throgh the flutthering broken blinds
A whithered face peered;
Silky tresses ruffled over
Her constantly glancing eyes
Fixed upon the gateway
Swollen by ceaseless waiting.

At a blink of those soaked eyed
Did her mind hover back
To the night where their silhouttes danced
In the moonlit room;
That prolonged kiss
Eyes bursting out with ceaseless zest
The perfect reflection of
Ardent minds of fervent youthfulness.

Oh that jilted love
Her heart was so feeble to bear!
He who fell in love
With aromatic eglantines of springtime;
Sucked that crimson rose,
Tasted the devinest dewy wine,
But now that the fall has dawned
Is already a grotesque sight?

“Oh, that filthy low-living woman!”
Labelled by their keen spears
Of course she is if ever
The utmost love of purity was to be “filthy”
Could her stamina abide that tide all alone?
Or else to cease breathe?
With that little nameless thing,
Already breathing inside her belly?

The dulcet of his sweet-nothings,
Oh, mere fancy flatteries!
She could never accuse of course
For the sake of her pure love.
She only wandered what dire fault
Could sunder him forever apart,
And is still waiting in despair
For that prolonged embrace…

Co-director, Rtr. Mihiravi Gunasekara