Mehendi & Murshid Poem by Sumita Jetley

Amid the marigolds, the laughter, the cheer,
Sat a mother, her joy laced with a tear.
Her daughter, the bride, a radiant glow,
Circled the fire where vows would grow.

The dhol played loud, the mehendi was bright,
Yet her heart sang softly in the golden light.
'O Rangrez, ' she whispered, 'dye her days,
In hues of love, in eternal ways.'

Her dupatta slipped as she chuckled away,
Teasing the children who ran in the fray.
'Dulhan sahiba! ' she called with delight,
'Don't blush so much—you're stealing the night! '

But beneath her jest, her prayers took flight,
To her Murshid above, in the starry twilight.
'Bless her hands, as You blessed my own,
With love that's steady, with seeds well-sown.'

She hummed an old tune, her tasbeeh in hand,
A melody spun from a mystical land.
'Mehendi of faith, let it color her soul,
Let joy and courage make her whole.'

As the fire flickered, her heart did swell,
For the future her daughter would lovingly tell.
In every smile, in each whispered vow,
She saw her prayers taking form somehow.

The night grew quiet, but her love remained,
Like a Sufi hymn, softly sustained.
For a mother's heart, though playful and kind,
Holds a devotion both endless and blind.