The Bride Unscripted Poem by CHIOMA ONYEKABA

Moonlight, a mocking spotlight, paints the white sheets cold,
A cruel reflection of the veil I shouldn't lose hold.
Three A.M. techno throbs, a twisted wedding march,
Taunting the lullabies my head desperately parch.
Two hundred faces flicker in a sleepless ballet,
Guests, family, a spectacle I orchestrated, they say.
The Mehta's grand debut, a Goan fairytale spun,
My wedding, a masterpiece, before the unraveling begun.
But escape, not diamonds, dances in my frantic mind,
A bride transformed, from planner to fugitive I find.
This tangled web, a masterpiece of indecision's art,
A chronic flaw that threatens to tear my world apart.
No time for beauty sleep, no time for bridal bliss,
Just the urgent need to untangle this, this wedding's abyss.
For unlike chipped polish, a quick morning fix,
This crisis looms, a happily ever after on the brink.