Every time I put henna on my hands I hum that song
Where I write your name on the palm of my hand,
Hidden in the intricate shapes, curves and designs
The story of the day we met or the day we spoke.
We have walked countless times around the fire
We have uttered so many different sacred chants
Of holding a bond so close just by keeping it safe
Deeply tied to the sense of our sacred silences.
We have celebrated in rhymes, absences felt,
The emotions that run wild and the colours
We have sang of the endless days we wandered
Listlessly, aimlessly and perfectly in silence.
Yet when I put mehndi on these hands of mine,
You smell them, as if it’s our first time together.