Comments Inbox
| |
About This Poem
Miss Hema's Suicide
A rural priest
rolls and throws out
the wedding mantras.
The ritualistic ululation
and the music of
a toot and a drum
melt the winter.
The bridal garland,
like a noose,
awaits a bride’s neck.
The bride bows her head
in the traditional
rural Indian coyness.
A groom learns to forget,
for the dowry freezes his heart
and opens his foxy eyes.
A wick yields to the darkness
beyond the nuptial rhythms.
The froth of love runs down
Miss Hema’s chin.
She is stranded on the bluish eternity.
And the pressed love in her womb
evades all the typical questions.
|
|
|