27. the baraat

The groom mounts a white horse
and rides into the dark to meet his lover,
music thumping along beside him,
his family chanting-laughing-crying behind.

We do not know his family, but they pull us in anyway,
aunties wrapping their dupattas around our waists
to tug us into step with trumpet squawks,
folding us into the sultry pulse of quickening bhangra
that thuds against the velvet night.

Somewhere halfway to his bride,
we lose the groom; we dance anyway.
He will follow the music.
He will find his way back, every time.


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