A Lady with burning urn

(18th Century's cruelty framed in my poem )

       A lady with a burning urn  
I pestered my tender sole in a hamlet
The marriage summoned wherein I had to be.
Pitch dark was it to cross the field couplet,
The copies lands got over, too hard for me.
A score or two of figures mere in view
Rounded the bride for rituals in her veil.
I peered and peeped, strange, none in a little hue,
But the fire shimmered and flushed the angel.
She stared at me in knot with the old unwise,
However the bond was customarily solemnized,
I loathed my heart and loathed my very eyes.
Coped not, how the god made them diced!
The night passed, the sun journeyed end,
I heard the news of the old brat’s demise of age.
Ran to the cremation-base with my hands to lend,
His pyre shimmered to flush my angel raised my rage.
                                             Written by
                                       Basudev Karmakar