My Cousin the Newlywed

I came with my mother,
Shaked hands with my uncle and aunt;
the parents of the bride, my cousin,
on this joyous occassion.

The Swissotel Stamford.

At the reception, an icy sculpture,
on which hung green grapes - the ones with seeds,
(a tribute to a fertile marriage)
Red strawberries and cherries
which were savoured with relish.

A group gathered round the ice and
stared in wonder, making O-shaped
mouth sounds, in appraisal of the stylish offering.
We feasted on the ripe fruit; the baby was fed in morsels.
Time passed while everyone was talking
to fill the air with kind wishes.

We looked around for a glimpse of the star couple.
A sweet-looking young girl was playing a baby grand.
The music was -
"She's teaching music. Studying in Junior College."
"Oh really? She looks just about my age."
- unfamiliar -
a soft, soothing lounge music to my ears.

Time passed and we met with more relatives.

We went in and ate the 8-course Chinese dinner.
Fussed over the gifts and service.
Toasted beer, wine, and champagne to the couple.
Applauded to their speeches.
Tables of smiles were captured by
a photographer wielding a sleek black camera.
Looked around to fill our desires,
to be served and entertained.

The dessert - Black glutinous rice with vanilla ice-cream.
When the evening was over,
The well-wishers shaked hands with the couple.
Outside, we groped the melting ice sculpture.
Until it broke.

We got a ride home
from an uncle who
drank four glasses of (bitter-tasting)
Sherlot
Red wine and declared himself
sober.

==

ON my computer table is a pink rose from my cousin's wedding.
Still pink in freshness, and scented like two days ago.
Like some of my relatives, I picked up a bunch and took a whiff.
It was easy to understand, Girl's fascination for them.
Their divine geometry, their intoxicating fragance.
Sweet smelling roses, exuding youth and exuberance.

How I yearn, oh, to be closer with the rose.
If only they aren't so short-lived.