30 poems in 30 days challenge! Day 17
She stepped outside in bridal wear,
Radiant red, face aglow,
An old hag walking by her side,
On and on, her tears would flow.
She took slow paces to the pyre,
Death itself was beckoning her,
Slow and rhythmic, soft and loud,
The crowd was chanting "Fire! Fire!".
They washed her feet in holy water,
Scrubbed and dried and wiped them clean,
As if to mock her one last time,
Before they were dipped in kerosene.
The hag - she left her by the pyre,
She climbed each step with forced restraint,
In her last moments ritual-bound,
Her urge to jump remained contained.
There her young beloved lay,
His feet and hands, bound and tied,
And suddenly she felt no fear,
With him lying dead, by her side.
A calm that she was stranger to
Filled her heart with fortitude,
She turned around to face the crowd -
"I won't go in", she spoke aloud.
The chanting stopped, the old hag gaped,
Dumbstruck by this audacious step,
Now what they saw I cannot say,
But silently, they walked away.
She felt no doubt or angst or pain,
But stood alone and watched the flames,
As they consumed each part of him,
His death had bought her, her freedom.
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