The Bride

The lines twist and turn

into designs of a future

an unknown coming

like the lines that hide an unknown tale.

How the henna pours on to her

like paint on canvas

each swirl a tale, a thought

so intricate and delicate

patterns of an Indian history

of kings and queens,

lovers and bonds

that bind them.

On her lies the journey of ceremony

pomp and grandeur;

A journey of the woman

dressed in red

as her skin bathe in turmeric

glows.

On to a new journey she goes.

Each string and bangle that adorns her

sparkle of rubies and jade

Like a Maharani she stood

waiting for him.

The henna tells stories

can’t you see it

coiled around her

they become her.

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