Force me down the aisle
in red and gold chain mail
and see my King Ravanna
and play out another folktale.
My banga as chains,
silver chanjara clamps.
The burning bindi scorned forever
lotus flower lamps.
Fire raining flowers,
rainbow rice scattered.
The melody of praise, drummings, joy
but all was truly shattered.
At first a beautiful fawn
that fooled mother and father.
But spouted 10 years of lust and greed
intending to be my lover.
Rama’s heart in fragments.
Our love had been destroyed.
By Ravanna, his curse, the demon, his evil,
to this he laughed and rejoiced.
My Rama disguised since
the lasting scorching mehndi.
But my Rama is no Prince,
instead her name is Rani.
A bow but no arrow,
Rani stood defeated.
Ravanna now had Sita
my Rani had been cheated.
No family would allow
the secret love we had.
For woman who loved a woman
this beauty was in clad.
At the wedding we danced
Ravanna and Sita in union.
Rani danced the Gidha and imagined
I in bed with a lion.
The sacred bound was set.
The red wife Sita.
His Queen to his dark empty heart,
confining me to Lanka.
Alas the tears fall
and Rani in depressing.
My life consumed to cell walls
as I receive my blessing.