Perhaps among them were those that burnt
In passion fueled by a deathly desire to live
And just as few may have shriveled in boredom
Should I seek to find each of those blackbeads
Which were lost at my wedding under the stars?
And draw out secrets from those deep sighs
cascading down their hidden, heaving hearts
Wandering down silent-movie lanes of slick memories
I came upon a red pair of perfect anger circles
No thread passed through their loneliness
They had painted themselves soon after they left
Their brethren; those fourteen witnesses of marriage;
Who fought, cried and begged; laughed and hugged
played in perfect morsels of a six-month old's palm
And on insolent evenings, played jasmine string songs
But all through the night, my black beads hummed
Until all at once you broke that thread that bound us
My full breasts could bear no more, blue-black hues
I walk around now, with emptiness clasping my neck
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