With the spring at its peak
The leaflets out into the world peep
Turning into leaves shortly
Fresh and young and full of gaiety
Then comes the time soon
To say goodbye to the mother tree
Plucked & dried with care
Then a great crush they have to bear
Turned into a powder to their despair
Packed away differently
And put up in the market for sale
Comes there a bride-to-be
Her shy eyes choose henna
At home it is bathed in nilgiri
Then applied on the trembling hand
The bride will hold out her coloured palms with pride
The agonies, pains all forgotten
This is an occasion of happiness
Same as henna is the bride’s fate
She’s plucked and crushed and packaged
To suit her suitor’s taste
And after her sufferings reach a peak
She is the colour of the family’s stake
Behind all the wonderful colours
No one sees the trembling terrors
She faces every time she’s tossed
And turned and looked upon
And packed in colourful attire
To be greedily bought
As henna crushes itself to bring
Colour into other’s lives
So does the woman bear everything
With swallowed pride
Like henna is her end at last
Is that why henna is the symbol of a young lass?


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