Bowl Of Grated Coconut

She came to the house like a shy monsoon,
a bride of two months, soft as sandal smoke.
Her bangles chimed like small, bright moons
whenever she laughed, smiled with eyes and spoke.

A gold coin glimmered in her palm,
a gift from her husband, warm with trust.
but envy travels without a sound,
and settles on sweetness like dust.

Her innocence became a silken snare,
a bowl of grated coconut waited on the sill.
White as winter, gentle as a prayer,
woven by five hands and their monstrous will.
It wrapped her voice in a veil of snow,
two heartbeats folded where deep waters flow.

She drifted where no footsteps stay,
and her love never learnt what went astray.

The courtyard willow winced at her fall
its leaves like shuttered eyelids drawn in fright.
every branch bent to bear the pall
of sorrow pooling at the edge of light.

At dusk he laments by the tree,
unaware of what it knew.
A bangle rings, impossibly,
and trembles in the morning dew
The willow leans as if to say
some truths are born too late to stay.