A Bride's Melancholy

An Indian Bride -

Her enticing eyes contemplate,

Through a veil drawn o'er her face,

Wrapped in a fancy, red attire,

She steps down in grace.

Trimmered with tinsels and glitters,

And furnished with the finest jewels,

She dazzles as bright as the sun,

And as majestic as northern bluebells.

Her cheeks painted in hues of hope,

Yet tints of fear, guard her smile,

At a tender age of twenty four,

She wasn't ready for an exile.

The melancholic screams, of numerous undone dreams,

Remain unuttered

For the merry echoes of the clarinet,

Were the only ones to be heard.

Those infinite sequins, laced onto her wedding crewel,

Outnumbered the stars her shoulders once held.

And the mesmerising scents of the tuberose flowers tucked into her bun,

Smothered the aroma of her half baked ambitions.

A mosaic of wisdom, courage and wits,

Shattered before the false notions of pride,

A white collar tonight, turned an Indian bride.