Clinking
On wrists
That shall never
Bangle the chimes
Of ambition
Piercing red
Through the white flesh
Lay cracking loops of glass
Shimmering through her hair
The virtue
Truly gauging her
Rest on the forehead
Palming away
The wrinkles
Of time
Now and ahead
Diving between
The neat thinned brows
Fashioning
The customary snip
Perched proudly
Dotting red
Stamping
The farewell letters
To all her dreams
She was a bride
A wife now
A daughter to serve
A mother to become
The flaming red
In the customs of matrimony
Mirrored the colour
Of the chunar that weighed
Her head down
In service
To all life but hers.
Eyeing
In a seductive art
She bore eyes into the mirror
Discovering voided journeys…
No. It choked back.
Stay.
It’s red alert.

–Ojhal

Read the other parts of this post series!
Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/Part 4/Part 5

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