You brush your long hair far from the oak, the tamarind’s shadow, my superstitious darling
You spit and toss the tangled tresses to be safe from the jinn, and all that’s vicious, darling
Bad luck vaulted across your obsidian threshold (a velvety cat romping with a rabbit foot),
tied itself into the knots of your trousseau rug which we’d thought auspicious, darling
What message was encrypted in a woolen rug by weaving desire into loss, flame into ash
This lovely handspun contention is no less than an extravagant hint, my judicious darling
Not the kohl dot on your neck, not the hand trained to wave thrice to avert your demons
Not esfand, not turmeric, kept you from being eaten— fate’s maw is malicious, darling
You struck the enemies with shock and awe, smoked them out of their living rooms
They cast the evil eye just before execution, when you were least suspicious, darling
You ordered robes of fire-proof textiles, goblets of amethyst, amulets of bloodstone
Your superpower-needs for protection left the planet bankrupt, my ambitious darling
Look, the lovely tropical paisleys, the arctic-blue blossoms on your trousseau rug
No nuptial bliss as exquisite as art— the true magic carpet ride, my capricious darling
Zeest, come, unravel the day to the song of the koel, the magpie, the scent of wild moss
You’ve burnt the sage, sprinkled the salt— let them wish the harm they wish us, darling
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