A Monsoon Wedding
A rural priest
rolls and throws out
the wedding mantras.
The ritualistic ululation
and the music of
a toot and drum
warm the monsoon up.
The bridal garland
like a noose
awaits a bride’s neck.
She bows her head
in rural Indian coyness.
Our groom learns to forget all
beside the glitz of dowry gold.
A burning wick
yields to the darkness
beyond the nuptial rhythms.
The froth of cheated love
runs down Miss Hema’s chin.
She is stranded on
the bluish eternity,
along with the pressed
love in her womb.
An opened phial lies
on the floor of a hut,
showing its void up.
First appeared in print in Rathalla Review, 2014 Annual Issue
Copyright © Fabiyas M V | Year Posted 2015
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