the bride lost
her veil; the seamstress
stitched a gown
of palaver, tulle and silk
in colours wildly mismatched.
groomsmen clapped and stomped,
the feast not so bad
for matrimony in a refugee camp.
I recall it all
as though it really happened.
why dont you reply to my emails? in 5 days time, it will be 6 years.
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