As the white grains pattered down the woman clenches his hands tightly, this is it.
All the long, numerous days planning and conniving have lead to this.
She is finally his wife.
Her dress sparkles with the diamonds of wasted money,
some free themselves, plopping on the ground, leaving a trail of wasted glamor.
The ground is littered with even more rice left discarded, but more pressing worries occupy her mind right now.
What should I wear after this for our honeymoon?
What hotel are we going to end up staying at?
He better have made the reservations I told him to!
Pasting a smile on her face she disregards those worries,
figuring she’ll ask him later but right now she has to hold up her appearance
as an innocently joyful wife.
The man is wondering why he even agreed to marry this woman.
She just uses up his money without regret.
He has just started to unravel the meaning of her traps to ensnare him.
Oh well, it's too late now.
He is trapped.
The guests' cheeks hurt from all the fake laughter.
Their dresses and tuxedos digging into their skin uncomfortably,
with the scratchy material leaving a sort of itchy feeling all over.
They look at the bride and groom envying their happiness,
while ignoring the plebeians knelt on the ground envying them.
The plebeians pick up what is deemed as trash to the rich,
but seen by them as another way to put food on the table.
They're the only ones comfortable with what they wear,
since what they wear is practical with every article a purpose.
Hunching over, backs aching, stomachs growling,
the peasants pluck every morsel with care and precision.
Like animals they are forced to live this way because
while the rich keep getting richer,
as the poor keep getting more poor.
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