A Poem

he rain set in early that night.
Far across the dimly lit lane,
His mansion glowed in small pools of golden and white.
Masked revelers, pretentious smiles & false appreciation reigned
As the masquerade continued to play.

The iron gates of her small house creaked open.
A few shadowy movements,
A few curious glances.
Peppering a long awaited break from the mundane.

She withdrew the dripping shawl.
And let her damp hair fall.
And, last, she stood in the middle of the road,
Arms outstretched,
And a little less forlorn.

As feigned nonchalance gave way to a small heartbreak,
She stopped to look across the lane.
She was the illegitimate part.
Meant to be shunned
Expected to survive how numerous others had.

May you, one day, be as happy as you are today pretending to be – she prayed for the inglorious bastard.
And walked toward the grime called life.
Who are you, dear? – someone enquired from behind.
No one – hurried voices replied.