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Braids

Evening. Sadness. Wistful yearnings —
An unseen yet gentle touch…
I’d shrug off this odd forewarning,
Trying not to fret too much!

I would plait my hair tightly,
Do it up in festive braids.
Not a single word I’d utter,
No promise would be made…

I would pick at the rich garlands
Smartly strung around my room…
I’d match ribbons by the colour —
All as fancy as my doom!

Glancing quickly in the hand-glass,
I would wonder — what’s the chance?..
Which one would undo my hair,
Lead me in a merry dance?

In a swift and graceful motion,
I would push my locks aside…
Hadn’t Mother always cautioned
Not to swim against the tide?

I would put away the garlands,
Doubts tearing me apart…
Let the duelists decide then
Which of them would win my heart.

There’s a crowd at the front steps —
And the gun shots can be heard!
…Why the fate is so fine-spun
That one’s bound to get hurt?