Her half drawn veil through which peeped her crimson lips,
Gazing eyes catching glimpses of her sculpted hips.
On her eyes fell reflections of the paling skies,
Laying below the dots of vermilion 'round her brow.
Sat perched on beds of marigold,
hair bejeweled with strings of jasmine,
The whiffs of which in the air condensed.
Her new life stretched in the parting of her head,
'twas all done with the tying of a thread.
Even the clouds beneath her feet were in a celestial dance,
Stars and even the moons had come to take a glance.
Her breath painting the heavens in a plethora of shades,
Burgundies and scarlets, never to fade.
The sounds of the drums pervaded the winds,
Hear ye! Have come the palanquin bearers.
Her aural lights shed a new tone,
She goes, to no longer belong to her father's home !
-Saakshi Sharma
No comments:
Post a Comment