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The first time
these hands were decorated by mehndi,
I had sat beside you in the lecture hall.
I thought they were beautiful then,
but you had never taken
even a single glance at them.

The intricate spirals and curls
of a reddish brown tint faded away
before you ever saw them,
and I rued the impermanence
of the mehndi’s stain.

Yesterday,
I had mehndi applied again,
and again,
I could not stop looking
at the tinted motifs:
I thought they were gorgeous.

Today, I realize
even if the stain of mehndi
should linger a little longer,
you are no longer beside me –
you are nowhere near me at all –
for me to wish for them to be in your gaze,
even just once.

I had lamented the impermanence
of the mehndi's stain then;
I mourn the capriciousness
of our lives now.