Time is fragrant gun-powder; a yellow garden mistakenly intrudes the galaxy of stars;
Before moon-rise, standing under a henna plant, smearing lac-dye on her forehead, cheek and chin, the bride hums a bridal song; on a river bank, having a scythe in his hand, the groom tells the tale of cutting water.
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Really a poignant rendition of words, crafted in heightened poetic diction with insight. Thanks for sharing Hanzala.