Thursday, August 12, 2010

The Seventy-second Matrimony

She was standing waiting there in the dark
Beside the mute and indistinct lamp-post
The one she has called her own
But tonight he was very late

With cinematic sobriety she has painted her flesh
Her profusely powdered face with surprised lips
Blemished in animated maroon to hide those scars
Like pure white snow soaked in cola
Her hands armed with a wifely satire
Her clothing undaunted and wild
Like secrets polished on a carnival
Perhaps proclaiming a desperate fancy
For a random man who pleases to unravel her

By now she has found a vocation
Leaning by the stunted bewildered lamp-post
Like a daughter lingering on the arms of the frail father
Waiting to leave with the bargain groom

Tonight will be her seventy-second matrimony
As she awaits in silence with her feeble father who
Offers her a faint silhouette on the broken pavement
It’s all this father can gather for her nocturnal dowry

The night passes by with its insane autographs,
She observes a gust of air waking the stray bitch
The count of the newborns from the night before didn’t match
The mere thought of the loosened ones coming under a bus
Speared her for a second, her shadow rippled

Squeaking street-rats fighting for sorry crumbs is routine
Tonight they reminded her of the siblings –
Consuming her world with their eyes
A constant adversary till she was seventeen and free

The second window on the right of the balcony suddenly lit up
Two hands picking a tumbler lingered for a moment and vanished
She detected a tidy figure behind the balcony curtains
A face, faintly discernible, was observing her stillness
The outline was unmoving silent and secluded, like men,
Her nightly patrons who leave silver-linings at the end
She couldn’t stare back or pierce through his gaze
He disappeared into reality leaving behind the same darkness

The abnormal night in all its acumen played on
The shabby father she leant on was run over
By an endless army of silly diligent ants
She moved her posture and eyeballed this army
She chose an ant that was speeding down just like her
Kissing every other night on her way down

She greeted the rest of the night with a lonely sob or two
And walked into the dawn listless and uncertain
Perhaps her seventy-second was God himself
Consummating those vows deep within

Copyright BluEJoKe (2010)