Wedding Blues


What she was brooding about, none knew.
The night before her wedding she sat
On a low stool, knees high arched,
Thinking of some possible sorrow
When all went fine and couldn’t be more so.
She did not leave a pining lover behind
Or a childhood friend whom she knew
From her schoolgirl days in County school.
Her trousseau and wedding veil were indeed
The right pick from the galore
And the seamstress never disappointed her.
She was the toast of her friends
And the darling of the kin
Who showered on her trophies of fondness.
Then why was she pensive?
She was hardy enough not to lament
Oncoming loss of maidenhood,
Having cherished conjugal dreams far back
At the first signs of amorous outbreak.
But that thing she did rue was not
In her power to repair.
She would be loyal to her vows
And fight back her urge to say,
I am a woman sure! But not born
To dance to your tunes however lovely,
Because I have a Soul that I cannot lie to,
To which I must tell the stark truth,
That I don’t enjoy being a starlet or
A delicate singing bird
To be held in the clasp of a capricious king
Though I may love him for his kindness.
Then she shuddered for a second.
If he was going to cuddle her in bed
Like a stuffed toy without a soul
Her restraint would burst for sure.
The moments till daybreak were thus numbered
With fleeting blues dampening gaiety,
Herself a stranger to herself
Amid echoes of party lovers’ banter.
She rose at last and her gait was heavy,
She paused before the mirror.
She saw no face or feature but the look
Of her raging soul. She rushed past
The cosy furniture reaching for the curtains.
She slapped the loose curtain on the pane
Where the first look of day began to show.
Then she hugged the covered pane,
Making her prone body suffice
To block the light that would engender
The rupturing of her erect self.

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