The Bridal Night

written long back .... tried my hand at writing something that makes sense today, and failed miserably - hence the copy paste job

I work the whole day, make myself busy with the household chores,
wash your clothes, prepare the food for you, sweep the floor clean of any dust that might offend you, dust your trophies,make your bed, keep your books in order, water your plants and light the lamps in your room.

My body is tired, but I hum a light noted tune for I am working for you, setting things right for you.
I smile and go about with all the chores, the tea you want has to have the right amount of sugar, the puris must be crisp but not over fried, the kurta must be starched but not too stiff, The carpet must be cleaned free of the bits of paper that you have torn up in a frustration of which I know not.

I then rest my bones bathing in the scented water, whose smell you like so much,I bedeck myself in all finery, drape myself in the most beautiful of silks , spread the sweet smelling jasmine on the bed, light a candle next to the window sill and stand shyly in its fluttering shadow, look at the wind flirting with the flame and imagine your caressing touches over my willing body.

I wait until the jasmine loses its fragrance, the finery begins to weigh heavy, the silks get creased during the night.... the wind loses its infatuation with the flame, having been rejected, the flame pouts , bickers and dies a silent death with an ever so soft sigh ....
I though have not slept a wink the whole night .... the mogras are wilting, I wilt along with them, the flame dies, something deep within me dies along with, the wind stops blowing.. the lamp of my hope dies, the bedcovers remain untouched, I remain widowed though a bride new .... the milk in the glass turns sour, my youth rots before ripening ....
Ahh... there I see the sun again, its dawn again .... the sun rises and the desire in my burns down to smouldering ashes.......
Its time for the household chores again.