Dilantha Gunawardana


Last Of The Mohicans


A sentinel in white
Guarding a providential birth rite
Like a ferocious lioness to her den
Even as the hourglass of life seeps her sands of time
A wilting flower no butterfly settles on
A lighthouse with a crumbling edifice
That has withstood the wrath of briny winds
The rugged edifice of a Portuguese church
Emptied of her communal congregation
A gallant crusader in shining armor
With lethal blades of love and shields of honor
Plodding knee deep in soggy marshes of modernity
A man sporting a smile on his face
Walking in communes of masked intruders
With an honesty that transcends
Even the echoes of a confessional
A man with no history
Searching valiantly to be chiseled in history
To be summoned by fate
To embark on an inimitable journey
To find his own version of serendipity
At long last..........

Submitted: Sunday, April 14, 2013
Edited: Friday, October 04, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

A poem on a person society calls a prude

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