The Lone Bride

By the window she stood,

In a huge white hood.

As the darkness flashed her gown;

Her face shimmered,

Spite of being loaded down.

For the story on face was hard to see.

One could not tell – gloom or glee?

For the love, or he lover

Whose side was it right to be?

Her love demanded the lover;

Moments of being desired at the least.

As, to someone else belonged

Memories and dreams of his.

His lips claimed, “All my love is for you.”,

Eyes screamed that was far from being true.

In his soul rested a distant maiden.

A period of dormancy that she had happened,

For now, again the maiden had awaken.

“What is love, if not for the lover?”, she thought.

Like a high school summer,

Would lay forgotten all the moments he had brought.

I shall celebrate the end of dormancy, said she.

For the lover, she chose to be.

Her love had won, herself had failed.

Not just memories,

A part of her, time had jailed.

Like a drenched painting,

In the shadows they met an elated face.

Down the aisle, the lover with his maiden, walked.

By her wails, the lone bride choked.

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