Our Bride

Our Bride

Our bride is pregnant with her sixth child.
Our bride is wearing a miniskirt, no, a microskirt, to be precise.
Our bride has her nose pierced.
Our bride has a tatoo too.
Our bride has a nasty hangover.
Our bride is swearing, again.
Our bride is bored at the altar.
Our groom stands stoically besides her, determined to commit this lifelong blunder.
Our bride is restless and listless,
For our eyes are burning her,
Plodding her with silent accusations and quivering protests.
We have righteously judged her.
We have passed the verdict.
We have unanimously passed the judgement on her conduct.
Her character is unbecoming…
So we believe.
So we are in agreement.
So we piously declare,
Conviently ignoring our own deformed hearts empty of any righteousness ,
And we purposefully overlook our own warped characters full of gaping shortcomings.
Still, she is our bride.
Yet we must marry her off…
We declare.
We reason.
Another social chore done….

© Ayoub Mzee 2012


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