The little bride
No, she doesn't have one. 'Dreams' as we do. Me and you. She doesn't aspire of flying up high. Stars never catch her eye. Nature's never been a thing of beauty to her. ' Wanderlust'? Perhaps she won't ever bother. Frail, young and submissive. Red feet, henna dyed hands. Clad in hues of matrimony she descends. Amidst cheer, pomp and show, she doesn't realise the hollow. The stark, dreadful reality that hides, beneath the glitter, the shimmer, the lights. She doesn't know. Poor girl, oh she doesn't! To her, it's all just a game. The little wedding game. Of dresses, anklets and bangles new. She doesn't care about all that's due. When all the glitter , the shimmer sheds within days, those traders shall have their ways. Her plight no eye shall see. Then? To her, it'll all be her destiny.