She sits alone in the midst of the excitement Of loud congratulations and silent envy 'Such a lucky girl' is the day's statement For she is the demure bride-to-be.
'The groom is an MBA and he earns well!' Her parents boast to each wedding guest Do they realize they are trying to sell A daughter, destined for a greater quest?
Adorned and decked up, in ancestral jewels She, who fights and speaks for the defenceless, Now sits, silenced by the ancient duels Between a heart's desire and conventional senses.
The sacrificial lamb on the altar of culture, Her mehndi oozes the blood of broken dreams, The criss-cross of designs, the imminent rupture, Piercing her life veins, stifling her screams.
A performance of grandeur and excess opulence, She carries the burden of docile submission, To his wishes, his needs and his dominance. Being the pawn in the games of tradition.
"This is what is best for you" and "You should thank your stars" She was told by those who, for years, convinced themselves That being a woman, solely means enduring the filial scars Inflicted by bonds created, In front of these sacred flames..