Oh hear my song,

You mighty waves,

Do you hear my pain?

Blistered lips quivering,

The disconsolate widow sings.


Her voice, caressing the breeze,

She writhes,

Anguish in every vein,

Bidding him goodbye; his last goodbye,

As the seagulls coo in vain.


The garlands, red and yellow,

Mashed, withered and mellow,

Drifting further and further away,

On the lap of the dancing waves,

Whisking away what is left of him,

A pot bearing her husband’s ashes,

With no life within.


Her footprints,

Nimbly, nimbly so,

Treading on sand and a beach of stones,

Hurting her toes.

Blood oozing,

A spirit broken,

A soul dismembered.

A body hugging just flesh and bones.


Weeping as if from the strings of the mandolin,

Embellishing a life in grief.

The waves, breaking at her feet,

Spew no answers,

Nor retort.

To her call at the watery grave.


Please waves, she weeps,

His ashes you embrace,

Don’t take him away,

To some distant land,

Cushioned between us mortals and the angels.

Soon he will be forgotten,

By family and friends.

While I lament.



Where are you, oh spirit of the sea?

Will he ever come back or will he become a fish?

A whale, or a creature of the sea?

Will he get entangled with dastardly seaweeds?

Or live a life of sin,

Fornicating with some voluptuous mermaids in Atlantis?

Tell me, tell me!


With arms outstretched,

Kneeling, she begged.

Why have you devoured him, who is a part of me?

Oh master of the seas

Can’t you see, I have his wedding ring?

Bonded we shall be in life and death,

Faithfully, I have been, his.

Bring him to me and end my misery.


Bells rang, as if rejoicing,

Her song reverberating,

The earth trembled

As if listening to her plea.

A good woman you have been,

Alone you shall never be.

And then the clouds,

In thunderous garb descended upon her.

The song of the widow was then heard no more.

*** Header image by Tim Wildsmith on Unsplash.

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