Adorned by banarasi, her silk petals are given to her.
Carefully she must dry out in the shade of her room.
Hidden in seclusion she is wilting, her petals feel sunburnt.
Raindrop tears are unacceptable.
Once crisp and presentable she must stand before him.
Engulfed in the mortar of his arms, comes pounding down the pestle of relentless criticism.
Appearing as smooth and soft as muslin.
He knows his strength.
Laying claim to this plant, this mendhi only his decoration.
Never enough to grind her to a paste.
Bitter lime obscenities are mixed in well.
Cruel words are left to soak and darken her soul.
Now he is ready to display his intricate paisley, for all his friends and family to admire.
Almost all are blissfully unaware.
There is one who suspects this mendhi will dry and flake away, yet fears the brilliant red-orange stain of betrayal.
The once fragrantly floral and earthy blooms, destined only to be crushed.