Pramod Lad

Look Back

My dearest love, so much of what we call fate
Is randomness. How else to explain
Why the day after our vows, someone sedate,
A beekeeper, should stalk me, why again
That particular meadow, that river bed,
The sharp tooth waiting, or the curse
Of my beauty and your music that led
Me first to your arms. Again, I rehearse
That fateful day, when I shed
All that was past, the ghostly dead,
And yearning, I followed, you far ahead,
Trusting your every step, your promise, as you led.
How can I forget the music, the haunted track,
My hate for you, my love, for the look back?

(The reference is to Orpheus

losing Eurydice to the underworld.)