At The Altar

At The Altar

Sixty two year old Marc chanced upon a diary in tatters

A few fragrant memories and some very familiar sealed letters…

His room, darkened with his own dust, dirt and gloom,

Filling every nook and corner, and hopelessly surrounded by doom.

Oh! What a muggy weather he had brought upon his fate,

Drowning himself bit by bit, supposedly drunk and obscured in lost love and hate.


The hurling breeze soothed his anxious soul in candid pleasure

Popped up a friendly invite, in golden emerald treasure.

A picture seemingly delighting the weary mind

Crooned up a tune in pain, the hand guiding to find

A bottle of Chianti, old and bare in sin and rage-

Further dampening the roof in his non-descript, leaking cottage…


The nomad mourned the death of love in the nogging bricks in pattern

Perhaps, a parlous man of illicit fame from faraway Saturn.

Alien, strange, eccentric and all things appeared too weird

With an inflicting sight and a dense, populous stinking beard.

In the rustic walls, a seed of hope peeped through a tiny hole

A heavenly star serenading its glory in a part of North Pole.


A home he had made, with a lovely wife and a little girl in tow,

Who dragged her father playfully standing idle in a row.

Collecting the wild mushrooms from the thick of the strange woods,

Chattering and crackling with laughter, gently stirring up their moods.

All things felt smooth, like satin and  fresh, fine pearls,

Cuddling in warmth, the face and the swirls……



Off hurried the carriage, with a little fairy in the mothers arms

Away from the stillness of the resplendent farms,

The father, distraught and dismayed in poor man’s scorn

Belittled and stranded, wretched and forlorn…

Moved the little eyes, smoked in misery much

gulping the torment and conspiracy of a human such.


An imprint huddled up in words boldly captured in joy and mirth

That truth has no land, crowned in time and worth.
“Dear Pa”, the little fairy wrote in lines of two

On the day, that I speak out ‘I do’,

I dream of my father walking me down the aisle

shouldering the distance, to a mile,

My childhood sweetheart to whom I would lend my heart

In rosy raptures, filled with croissants, currants and some tarts.

I need you, beside me, for the time of my life.

To give away my hand, in love and strife.

That I would sufficiently prove my being

and flicker aloud to harbour a family in Spring!

Your smile would shape my confidence, you see

That little Fairy of yours, must make amends to be

A fetching soul, a good mother and all splendid things in real, I shall make

To create a den for my own selfish sake!

So, string the wounds, sew the dim, and sail your way for me

The “Pa”, I left behind, in my young years has lots in his bag, you see.

Must you come, my father dear, in your finest clothes and shoes

And pack for me the fun of the farm, the turkey and the goose..

The scent of the woods, the call of the birds, and the cool refreshing breeze

The isolation of the growing up years, I now intend to seize!!!

OH!  Give to me the gifts of a daughter, half raised,

To surpass my belief, I wait to be amazed.

Hand in hand, we will consent on a pace

Slow, firm, with steps so calm, that no longer need to race.

I will rest a while, to embrace my dream, in slumber, love and light,

When I indeed wake up, you must be the only one in sight.

Do not delay, do not stress in happy wonder

Let this grow and spread and make our hearts fonder!

See you then , my loving “ Pa”, in the rise of the new day,

There’s a rainbow to greet us at the fanciful bay.



The thoughts ran amok, the mind wandered in fear

That little fairy, was always so near?

The old “Pa” crossed his hands in a tight clasp

THE breath halted, the life parted as quickly as a gasp.




There, the fairy daughter, made for a charming bride, under the sun,

The kith and kin, in berserk wildness and run

Then stopped an arc in the vastness of the blue sky

To a soothing whisper of love and a tranquil note of goodbye…

Shrabanti Ray
Shrabanti Ray

Shrabanti Ray is a teacher, trainer, facilitator, mentor, script writer, poet, thinker, and crafter, possessing about seven years of corporate experience and thirteen years in the educational sector. A progressive thinker who dwells on the art of life and the several strings of life that create music. Looking out of the window is a pastime that she relishes to seek an insight within. She believes in living life to the fullest as there is no second one.

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