Wreaths of rhododendrons in honour of the brave,
Smell of jasmine, rose petal sprinklers in the celebration;
But the sweetest smell that surpassed these was
That of your soft Heena-painted hands.
Drums and horns of celebration across the land,
Singers and dancers at court till the wine poured late,
Yet the most beautiful of music was
Of your anklets' tinkle in the echoes of the palace.
A monument of marble, a fort conquered far beyond.
But home for my wandering heart
Remained your open courtyard.
A royal title, a guard of honour, a sword
Yet your letters were still my greatest reward:
A rule laid, fate separated,
Your heart remained the rebel, as did mine.
I painted your image in a corner of my room,
As you left an everlasting imprint on my heart.
The gust of wind blew,
It travelled across the plains,
Over the hills of the Aravallis.
It brought me a tint of dust from your soil
Imprinted with your smell and name,
And I knew that my heart was transformed.
I longed for you as you did me
I was no longer afraid to show it.
Not caring about society
My soul was bound to yours
For eternity and beyond.
Wild and untamed,
This Love knew no norms.
No borders nor religion,
It only knew you.
Your eyes. Your smile. Your touch.
You made it a rebel for life.
You made me a rebellion of Love.
And when we parted at last,
That teardrop shone in your eyes
Like a pearl on my necklace.
But I knew in my heart,
And you in yours,
This was not the end.
This was a beginning
Of something the world would never know.
I wait for you again today,
Under the moon beam and stars
At the same white marble where I saw you last.
This time you come, a little late,
I waited too long, but then
Do souls have days?
And finally, your painted hands touched mine,
A perfect fit.
And here we dance today.
In a Sufi trance in the moonlight,
Our union of Love,
As for the world that separated us in life,
We slowly slip into oblivion,
Waiting for someone aeons far,
To tell them our story
Of love, bravery and scars.
© Suranya
