With a deep, delicate sigh
Sita let down her hair, metaphorically
of course. For proper women
never do. Yes, not fair.
“It went well, don’t you think?”
She turned ever so slightly
To catch the shadow of the dark Lord
Her wedded spouse, just right there
The acrid smoke from the battle
Had barely begun to clear
The joys of victory echoed
Through the silent air
“Yes, it did.” He said. “It does.”
Not a man of many words
It is said. For words can trap a man
Set in stone. So dear.
She smiled her secret smile
As she does and did each year.
The Ram Lila was done
Renewed to resonant cheer.
(c) Meeta Sengupta
(And those who know me, know I like my puns. And allusions.:D)