Dolkis, ghajaras, yellow and pink dust in the air,
Laughter of mothers and aunts, cousins and nieces.
A glimpse of happiness,
Turns to sudden fears of the unknown.
Decorated eyes looking up in desperation,
The green glitter is dim but still shines.
Torn and beaten with age, you can still make out the unfamiliar words secured in the frame,
قالَ رَسُولُ اللهِ (صَلَّى اللهُ عَلَيهِ وَآلِهِ وَسَلّمَ): ما بُنِيَ بِناءَ فِي الإِسْلامِ أَحَبُّ إِلى اللهِ عَزَّ وَجَلّ مِنَ التَّزْوِيجِ.
“There is no foundation that has been built in Islam more loved by Allah, (The Greatest and Noblest) than marriage.”
It was gifted to her mother from her grandmother,
Now it belongs to her.
Defeat and pain are all too familiar,
The laughter of mothers chime in again and hymns of a happy home and life are sung with plastic smiles and belie tears.
Just maybe the words echoed by old, new, and future brides can speak them into existence.
“Will she break the curse?”