viii. harmony

there's a lady named harmony

she lives atop the snow-casted hills

donning a white saree, pearls around her neck

she is a bewitching beauty, a persona of peace

her lips, unfortunately waxed, her hair cut short by fate, her bangles broken by pebbles.

once she used to be my friend

lulling me to sleep, kissing me good night

alas! my time to leave came too early

she cried over my body; i collected her tears in a scooped out moon-bowl

i wish red will come back to her soon.


This is actually a husband (now not mortal anymore, i.e. dead) wishing that his widowed wife gets to wear red again and be happy. The only way out, a remarriage.

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