Sandalwood And, Roses

I’m wearing the maroon pullover

You gave me on our fifth anniversary.

It’s come straight from the dry cleaner’s

And it smells of rose

Instead of sandalwood.

I’ve left my hair tousled tonight,

It helps in hiding

The baby grays,

And as you say,

It reminds you

Of when we meet,

At the sun’s peak,

In a canteen

Forced to wake up

On a lazy Sunday afternoon.

Ma’s called in at least five –

No, wait…

Make that a six –

Times till now.

She’s asked me more

About my nerves

Than what I had for lunch;

I believe she’s a bit nervous.

You’ve always joked

Of this day,

In your cotton dress

At the beach

With our toes

Tucked in seashells and sand;

But today,

As I’m looking at the

Platinum band on my finger,

I remember how you smiled

When you said,

“It will be easier for you,

The society will remind you;

They will help.”

And I know it wasn’t a joke.

So I’m here in my maroon pullover

That you gave me on our fifth anniversary

Searching for sandalwood

As I meet the fifth girl

They want to fit

Into your shoes

By the altar


While they try to sell me rose,

They would have brought you

Nothing but sandalwood.


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