Vermilioned Widow…

Standard

bride

bangles in flamboyant colors
jingle on fawn skinned arms
like rainbows corded on wrists
ornate jewels of gold and gems
enhance her radiant persona.

blushing scarlet, celestial orb
that ravenous waves swallow, at dusk
is aglow on her forehead
as lunar maiden peeps through
dark floating strands of clouds
akin to wisps of  soot-like smoke.

her face glows through
veil of silken tresses
flying at wind’s whimsical moods,
a streak of scarlet vermilion
is like blood flowing between parted locks
a bond that ties her
into a sacrosanct union with
her (so-called) beloved.

a symbol of her nuptial pledge
her palms are scented in
intricate patterns of henna
and her feet with silver anklets
are dyed in hue of roses.

all brocade, silk and jewels
she stands a silent silhouette
with an earthen lamp glowing
in tiny pinches of vermilion
and turmeric and rice grains
on an ornate silver plate
but chiseled dewy lips
lack their shy smile
– of  anticipation.

hope has long  died
behind  her vacant  eyes
she stands as
a decorated mannequin
enacting a mere charade
a sarcastic joke of fate,
shackled by chains of tradition,
compelled by stringent
yet putrefied norms
of orthodoxy.

dinosaurs of society
and hopeless faith
Of a stubborn father
in existence of a son long lost
hurling whirlpools of Styx…

 

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