The Bride’s Farewell
A sonorous crescendo churning into nerve endings’ geometrical maze – doubts vanishing and re-surfacing in a blink – new bondings sculpting on a cusp surprisingly unknown – to compose a new raga; to synthesise veiled bliss — beyond the festooning glitter and colourful lights wrapped around green bushes of the marriage venue – incense of memories come wafting through my wholeness — the day a blue fairy filled in my lap – many years ago, umpteen seasons afar–
The bride – once nestled in my fond arms – fingers braided her rich silky tresses – her large ebony orbs beneath eyelashes’ coppice – honey tinted skin buoyed with youthful elixir – plump beating heart now twenty-six years old – today detangling from the placenta to vacate her lush anchorage —a tomorrow kindling in her to outweigh the past –her feet in motion to tread turf of new grass–
Her syrupy talk, swirling enthusiasm and what not – recorded in my mind and heart – the sweetest dreams —weirdest thoughts – her bewitching laughter like fresh-water brooks – penned in indelible inks onto my heart– quarks of her candour resplendent in the brain’s dark – destined for this vermillion farewell though – sparks of freshly plucked flowers listless in the basket —the scent taken off to faraway mists –
The residues of goodbyes and vestiges of joyous peals—hall chandelier’s hangover past the bustle – chaotic chairs now shrunk at assorted angles —afterimages of exhausted bottles tumblers crumpled napkins – tired salvers holding leftover sweets – silent cinders of the holy fire – sweeping the tympanum marriage mantras’ chants – dissipated whiffs of rose garlands worn by the newly-wed couple saddening the air –
retreating sound of car wheels she sat biding farewell – the last scintilla of the embroidered yellow handkerchief —tied up in henna-stained delicate wrist – smudged on time’s ticking like catechu stains paan’s betel leaf – not to be diluted sooner by rushing moments — in spite of diaphanous melancholy did the celebration conclude –no, it doesn’t seem to – a season is over, another in offing —amalgamating joys, hopes and slivers of sorrow.
Era Garg December 2022
In response to Wednesday prose poetry prompt ‘after the party’ by J.D. Harms in Scrittura.
