The Bride
In the dead of the night,
She stood in front of the mirror.
In the company of her incompetence
Struggling to drape a saree.
Rustling noises
Cacophony of expectations
Jingle of the jhumka
Burning kohl
Ruddy lips
Flushed cheeks
Coloured manicured nails
A bindi placed in the middle
To hold together.
Her ragged nerves
Met face to face
A woman
Staring long and deep
At lifeless cast aside skin.
In her artwork
Carrying a draped complex fabric
The colours and hues
The fragrance
She set to walk in an arid landscape.
Her feet bled
To water the listless
Her brow sweat
To provide refuge
Her eyes burnt brighter
Than the scowling sun
Her saree
Turned into a bed of lush greenery
As she lay to rest.
Comments
Post a Comment