Threads Left Untied
I borrowed an ancient and beautiful name,
To bury my grief in another’s old shame.
For they were promised a dawn to arrive,
While I had to learn how to bleed and survive.
A golden swan carried their love through the skies,
And she chose her true king through the gods in disguise.
A dark game of dice stripped his crown and his land,
And he fled in the forest, letting go of her hand.
Yet a clever second gathering called him from afar,
And love pierced the shadow to find where they were.
This is the story you often heard;
You may know the ending sweetly catered.
Let me tell you the story of mine,
A bitter tale that grief to define.
Damayanti was far too tired to trace
The fading prints of Nala's face.
There was no second swayamvara to rise,
No Damayanti to pierce his disguise.
No chariot returned, no forgiveness was spoken,
Some threads are not tied once the fabric is broken.
The gods didn’t weep, and the world didn’t pause;
We simply became who we never once was.
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