"anklets" poems
Like a toddler taking maiden steps
The narrow stream moves through the woods
Tripping and falling over pebbles and boulders
Chiming its silver anklets
Forcing itself in irrepressible flow
It thrusts and shoves its way down
Through thickets and a line of ferns
And the tangle of creepers and thorny brambles
Drowning the whisper of bamboo leaves
Its sweet murmur falls in my ears
As an eternal living melody
The cosmic song heard over eons
As the water sluices down the rocks
It becomes a frothing braided torrent
Producing a harsh grating roar
Like the crescendo of a tribal symphony
There it forms into a small pool
With its waves gently rippling
Where birds merrily come to take a dip
And sunning their feathers, fly back refreshed
Sometimes travelling unseen
It suddenly emerges into the open
Cutting its way through cracks and fissures
Never willing to surrender before hurdles
With a bearing immaculate in grace
It sends out waves of pure delight
What joy it is to watch the dilly dally
Of this sedate pilgrim moving to its destination
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 10:07 AM UTC
ghagras twirling
veils swirling
anklets tinkling
silver at her neck
how she adorns herself!
regal as a queen
but cannot conceal
her banjara soul
gypsy blood flows in her veins
a thousand stars alight upon her veil
fuchsia and orange set fire to the dusk
twilight is thick with her magic
she sways with the grace of a peacock
bends like a willow to the breeze
dances in celebration of her soul
her smile a universal knowing
none can slow her pace
beauty this wild leaves only a trace
slips airily past eyes
drunk with desire
to beguile the moon in his heaven
she answers the call of the wanderer within
casts only laughter on the restless wind
this desert rose
this woman child
this gypsy queen
this banjara
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
She moves those hips hypnotically
As she smiles through her slender long fingers
Speaking with her big beautiful onyx-black eyes
Ah, Will you just look at her grace?
Her saree painted rich brass
With amber brown motif on the edges
Heavy indian anklets adorn her ankles
Her skin so golden on which sunshine sketches.
Glorious, every little move she makes
Flamboyant, her mehendi feet, the way they part and meet
All the energy any strong man can have,
Reflected in her elegant femine beauty, sincere and discreet.
Like a goddess, she holds her head high
And showers you with her immortal blessings
When she gets down the stage with a humble smile
You'd exclaim "paradise on earth" with a sigh.
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC
Teri Payal Agar Chhanak Jaye*
Gardish-e-Asmaan Titthak Jaye
If your anklets, made a sound
Spinning of heavens, would pause
Tere Hansne Ki Kaifiyat Tauba
Jaise Bijli Chamak Chamak Jaye
Nature of your laughter, God forbid!
Like bolts and flashes, lightning draws
Teri Gardan Ka Tazkira Sun Kar
Jo Surahi Hai Woh Chhalak Jaye
Hearing, portrayal of your neck
Even a goglet, overflows
Le Agar Jhoom Kar Tu Angrai
Zindagi Daar Par Latak Jaye
Twirling, if you pandiculate
Existence, would hang by the ropes
Choor Hai Aise Paakpan Tera
Jaise Das Das Ke Saamp Thak Jaye
Broken to atoms is your innocence
Like once bitten fatigue a snake shows
Teri Ankhoon Ko Dekh Paiye Agar
*Jo Farishta ** Woh Bahak Jaye*
If one wins to see your eyes
Even an angelic, deluded grows
✒ Translated by ℐamil Hussain , Sung by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 5:40 AM UTC
everywhere i look
your blood laced fingerprints.
everywhere i hear
those tintinnabulating anklets.
everywhere i smell,
the overpowering musky marigolds.
but where are you my black goddess?
when no one in the universe
can match your ravishing beauty,
have you chosen
this time
to hide inside pure dark matter?
© 2022
Jan 15, 2022
Jan 15, 2022 at 9:27 AM UTC
A sudden evening rain over the rice fields,
memories wake up from deep sleep
of long years, take a walk once again
along the narrow ridge parting green fields
on a rain soaked evening of yore.
She, a jaunty young woman had changed
the quiet world of a village boy
with big curious eyes, just in few minutes.
his innocence, vanished a yearning
for something unknown until then,
started its torment
love, dabbed its fragrance
on his being with its slight of hand,
a spell cast over him made his head spin
like he drank heady wine, how strange!
Under her spread umbrella he came
by chance, only once in his life
walked with her till the door
on his way to the temple of Krishna
for the evening worship,
walking along the zig zag, slippery path
had he slipped a bath in slush was assured.
When the rains came unannounced,
rushing ,with her anklets clanging
frogs spiritedly croaking,
all this mingling with
the orchestra of myriad insects,
she came as if from nowhere,
from a wild growth of banana plants
on one side, down to his path.
She smiled at him as if she knew him well
a lush young woman, who took him by his hand,
brought him closer to the protective
wrap of her sari, that smelled lemons and oranges,
that fragrance remains sweet in memory,
was it jasmine scent from her long black tresses,
that made him feel that the world has suddenly
become, a place, full of luminance,
has he quickly grown up to her age?
She didn't ask him questions,
called his pet name surprising him
about that knowledge of her;
that made him think that
she was someone so close once,
but forgot as he grew up.
Reaching in front of the temple,
she gave just a wistful look,
and vanished from his life for ever.
Not even aware that she just gave,
the best fragrant moments
for a boy on the first step to adulthood,
he stood looking her go on her way.
When he look back and remember,
this delusion, he realizes, stays with him:
"I am under your umbrella ever since"
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 1:33 PM UTC
If he should lie a-dying
I am not willing you should go
Into the earth, where Helen went;
She is awake by now, I know.
Where Cleopatra’s anklets rust
You will not lie with my consent;
And Sappho is a roving dust;
Cressid could love again; Dido,
Rotted in state, is restless still;
You leave me much against my will.
3.2k
Did you know the East Indian Bottle Masala includes as many as 27 spices, or that an oil-free pickle served at their weddings is actually known as Wedding Pickle?
These and many such authentic East Indian masalas and pickles are available at East Indian Cozinha (Portuguese for kitchen), a food store started by Christina Kinny at Kolovery Village in Kalina, Santacruz. "I started East Indian Cozinha with an attempt to preserve and highlight our cuisine and culture," says the 24-year old, who has studied Masters in Social Work and currently, works with an enterprise that helps tribal farmers.
What’s in store?
Going back 500 years, the East Indian cuisine enjoys influences from Portuguese, British and Maharashtrian fare. The staples include rice, coconut, tamarind, fish and meats, with spices forming an integral part of the cuisine. For instance, Prawn Atola is a dry dish comprising prawns coated only with Vindaloo Masala featuring Kashmiri chilli, cumin and turmeric. "Most people from our community were farmers and would be out on field all day. So, the masalas and lemon would help preserve their food for a longer time," reasons Kinny.
At present, the store stocks six varieties of masala in 100g bottles (R150 onwards). These include Khuddi or Bottle Masala, Chinchoni (fish) Masala, Vindaloo Masala, Roast Rub, Kujit Masala and Tem Che Rose. She also offers Wedding Pickle, an oil-free variety prepared with raw papaya, carrots and dry dates. "All the recipes have been passed on from generations and are homemade," she informs.
However, making the masalas is no cakewalk. "It takes three days to dry spices under the sun. Then, we hand pound them and pack them tightly in bottles with wider openings," says Kinny. She recalls that in her grandmother’s time, the masalas were tightly stuffed in beer bottles. The bottles were darker, and hence, helped preserve the masala for at least a year, at room temperature.
Lugra love
East Indian Cozinha also stocks traditional 10-yard saris known as lugras. These are hand embroidered by Kinny’s mother, Carol. Previously made only from cotton with authentic gold borders, now, lugras are embroidered with sequins and threads. "She has been in the garment industry for the last 30 years. She also makes traditional accessories like kapotas (earrings), karis (hair pins), anklets, etc," informs Kinny.
read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses
www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 1:52 AM UTC
I was in my dream last night...
The girl in my dream was a self image that my self conscious created.
She had long thick curly hair running down her back like a wild river,
and There were these thin wisps of black curls that rested on her forehead and would not budge no matter how many times she swept them aside
The ensemble she wore was rich in color
I admired the way the colors complemented each other
incredibly lively and elegant
She wore an azure tank with an emerald silk scarf
A Celeste cascaded long skirt embellished with tiny vibrant glass beads that shimmered ever so brightly
She was bare foot but i couldn't help but notice every step she took
On her ankles were anklets that dangled the prettiest of gems
She walked towards me
Her beautiful clothing dancing against her body
She sat next to me on the curb and said
"You look sad, what is the matter?
i can see the circles under your eyes
the insufficiency of laughter
Your heart and your mind are intertwined
You convince your mind to keep you in a dark place
then your heart crumbles leaving your care-fee spirit behind.
These are simply realities you must face
you know, things fall apart
so better things can come together
it might break your heart
but believe that hurtful moments don't last forever
Sometimes in-explainable things happen
sometimes the going gets tough
but you cant allow it to break your spirit for too long
The sun will rise again, sure enough."
Then, just as she gracefully came,
she gracefully left
I Awoke.
She left me with my sadness
for me to decide.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 9:09 PM UTC
Okay guys, this is going to be a romantic poem as I was in a fresh mood after I woke up. I dreamed about my ideal girl and in this poem I'm going to describe her.
The Kohl In Her Eyes
The Bangles In Her Wrists
The Anklets In Her Legs
Are All Golden
The Sweetness Of Her Choice
The Mellowness Of Her Voice
The Callowness Of Her Rejoice
Are All Elven
The Divinity In Her Face
The Uniformity In Her Grace
The Words In Her Praise
Are All Woven
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 6:10 AM UTC
I dreamed of going to a ball once, all in red and gold--like Settareh from the old tales.
Only, I had no pari to help me.
My veil was secondhand, my gown plain, and my anklets of paste and plating instead of diamonds and gold.
But there was this boy, you see.
Not a prince, not the captain of a ship or a faerie lord, not a warrior, a healer or a mage...just a boy.
And I had the barest will-o’-the-wisp’s hope that he would dance with me.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 9:44 PM UTC
This is not atrocity
This is the basement
This is the sea receding like lips to reveal tooth-like shells
Amongst the bullet casings and corpses felled leaving the boats
This is the sand like an inverted moat around the
Kingdom at sea, and this is the Remainder.
Yet they remain jubilantly-
Is this what being jubilant means?
Chamomile anklets adorning a hanged child.
This is not atrocity,
Ignorance wielding pitchforks and fire.
Anger alight and hostility riled
This is not atrocity.
This is not far from this reality;
Remember this child-
And the mob piled like tinder on themselves
Convincing carrion feeders
And unimpeded breeders that
Halt the march of science that
This is not atrocity.
The certain hot song by which Earth is greeted
Has an immediately recognizable tune.
And
This is not atrocity;
It sounds more like ****** ******
But I can't hear it
And I have no fear anymore
I open my eyes to another routine killing, and I know-
This is atrocity-
But a necessary one.
It's hardly enough to stay alive
And as I and we strive for
Money and coffee and love,
I and we let
atrocity
enter us.
Climb into us like a hand does a glove,
or a puppet.
It is not nature;
Nor fate;
And one needn't be dead
to appreciate the ability to open the senses
and actually sense.
And this,
I am certain,
Is not an atrocity
May 21, 2010
May 21, 2010 at 8:30 PM UTC
Okay guys, this is going to be a romantic poem as I was in a fresh mood after I woke up. I dreamed about my ideal girl and in this poem I'm going to describe her.
The Kohl In Her Eyes
The Bangles In Her Wrists
The Anklets In Her Legs
Are All Golden
The Sweetness Of Her Choice
The Mellowness Of Her Voice
The Callowness Of Her Rejoice
Are All Elven
The Divinity In Her Face
The Uniformity In Her Grace
The Words In Her Praise
Are All Woven
But in no way does this poem means to indicate otherwise about my stand about the institution of marriage. I still remain of the opinion that marriage is not for me. This is just a poem. Peace. :-)
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 2:26 AM UTC
#*
The breeze made an impression through the night
That of a warrior back from a fight
The place all glorious by its precious presence
The winds had no say tonight
The breeze was gentle
Tenderly it spoke to the million leaves
The street lights glimmered
The crickets sung their song
Like the jingling anklets of a danseuse
On a musical night*
🌿🌿🌿🌿
Aug 19, 2021
Aug 19, 2021 at 8:07 AM UTC
*
By tinkling its silver anklets,
She, my own blue river flows
in twilight !
the sand shores and waves
forget themselves; while in a wet kiss;
Then in a lovely embrace !
By tinkling its silver anklets,
she, my own blue river flows
in delight !
Is she is in a pain of parting
Or is it a symbol of ecstasy
That blossomed through
the small bubbles of her.
Oh my beloved beauty, with blue eyes
Just smile once again !
By tinkling its thousands of anklets,
she, my own blue river flows
in day light !
The cool breeze and rhythm of waves
made my thoughts, filled with your face;
Oh my beloved beauty, with blue eyes
Just smile once again !
By tinkling its thousands of anklets,
She, my own blue river flows
in moonlight !
*
BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 12:22 PM UTC
I remember summertime days
We spent under the brightest
Blue skies
Watching the whitest fluffy clouds
Making shapes
On top of the hill
Right by the climbing frame
Joining daisies for chains
That would become
Friendship bracelets
Tiaras
And anklets
Necklaces and rings
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC
Walk with me, with calloused feet and weary eyes
Walk with me, through crowded marketplaces
Where they bargain over the price of love
And bodies are sold for a song
Walk with me, dusk is far away still
Our anklets are shackles, our souls a shroud
The market is a sea of sharks today
Their gleaming, moist teeth threaten and lure
Walk with me, my love, my heart, the air in my lungs
Let’s breathe freedom one last time
Where the tinkling laughter of a child is still heard
And the nights are still scented with jasmine
Walk with me, as our prices are fixed
For the sway in our hips, or the curve of our lips
Walk with me, dusk is approaching
And the auctioneer’s hammer is about to fall
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 1:23 AM UTC
In place of memories — embers.
Inextinguishable, yet untrue
to the fidelity of what was.
The smoky curlicues, too,
have been denied. That whiff
of the past. Smouldering,
it warms the prudent hand.
Sears the lingering one.
In place of you — embers.
Charcoal flake anklets at your feet.
Wrinkling, shrivelling.
Your impassive verse-marked
way of staying. But when asked
to disappear, become so
unwilling.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 11:59 AM UTC
Cities aren't cities,
The people are the cities,
she'd say, and I didn't understand
what she meant until I realised
That Hauz Khas was our first stroll ever,
Khan Market- our best cup of coffee,
Humayun Tomb- our first stolen kiss,
Dilli Haat- our first quarrel,
The Lodhi Gardens- our biggest quarrel!
The Jama Masjid was where we'd always make up.
Now I know which market sells her favourite
bags, which gully keeps the anklets
she loves most, which discrete stall in the
by-lanes of Old Delhi is her best chaat-wallah ever,
Every nook, I know by the fragrance of her memory,
I try forget, I try erase,
But oh, I remember,
For she is my Delhi
Delhi is her, only her,
The city of first love, first dreams,
a million rights, a devastating wrong,
The city that now stings with the thorns
That make my feet bleed when I try to enter,
Even with my back turned,
The city hurls
Stones at my fragile heart and screams at me
to never return.
I'll never return.
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 2:12 PM UTC
.
Silver charms on an anklet ******
as her foot stamps down once,
crossed dainty in front of the other,
and her hands start a slow ascent.
From hips up into the air
in the nonchalant action of the flame,
arcing a half circle about her waist
she turns to face the assembled crowd.
A tabla starts a sleepy beat
and the sitar player awakens,
or returns from a meditation,
readying himself for his introduction,
to blend a melody of the Moon
with the woven movements of dance.
The beat increases and four taps
signal a change in the rhythm.
The following note is punctuated
by the tinkling of the charms
and the first strum of the sitar,
sending music to the starry sky.
And her hips sway in gentle waves
as her hands mimic the lotus flower
in cups of dreams above her head,
and the anklets jangle a soothing sound.
The wrists twist and move graceful,
delightfully twinned with the neck of a swan,
and her body sways like a leaf in the wind
to the melody from ages past.
The tabla starts a frantic beat
as the sitar player lets fly,
his new unrestrained chords
dilute the night with ecstasy.
And she dances in her trance,
skin shining with the dew of reflected joy,
her lithe body telling the story
that began before the dawn of time.
A crescendo summons the dance to end
and silence fills the void,
but far into the deep dark night
silver charms on an anklet ******
© Pagan Paul (01/09/17)
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 7:04 AM UTC
daughter of the mountain
those fierce himalayan winds
bring home
the music of your tinkling anklets
with each cat-like step
you take
i hear esoteric ragas
neatly arranged
forming musical treatises
exalting
your indescribable beauty
and infinite greatness
for now,
i meditate on
that space
between these notes
which is where
i know
you truly reside
© 2019
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 4:58 PM UTC
the astrologer within
has made a prediction....
this heart has about
a billion beats left
so dance Kali
dance
fully dressed
or naked
not in the amphitheaters of Rome
but over my corpse
in the ghats of Manikarnika
where my cremated ashes
will be dissolved
in that same river
you so heartlessly condemned me to
as you cut a rug in ecstasy
with bloodied eyes,
forget not that
this body of mine was your theater
my eyes, the showcase lights
my in and outgoing breath
the music of the orchestra,
my heartbeat
the tintinnabulation of your anklets
the candle of love
that i lit and housed
within me
kept your id and ego
in perfect balance
this candle is fast melting
but it’s my tears
which now run like a river
that will remain forever
this show is closer to its end....
the sound that you now hear
which fill the moribund skies
emanate from the cosmic drum
which beats louder and louder
©2019
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 11:20 AM UTC
You were talking
About a girl
She laughed
Clinking like anklets
At times
Grew dull
Like an overcast sky
Other times
I strained my ears
To stencil her in me
When a solitary pigeon coos
From the office wall
Am out in the sun
Listening to you
And through you
Her.
At times
You become her
And she, you
There is a you
Who laughs like glass bangles
There is a you
Who is silent
Like a broken bangle
Myriad yous.
We become alone
When we love
I have stood
The sun
Rains
Nights
Deserts
Abandonment s
Forests
Seas
Conduits.
Alone
Alone
I can see that girl
That tree shade
Her solitary sobs
That embankment
Her solo conversations
That desolate stone
Her lonely laughter
What is more agonizing
On this earth
Than to be in love.
Translation : Shyma P
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 1:38 AM UTC
The limitless array of the animistic Jewels—Each fighting their magnetic urge
To come together as one, a forever lasting passion dripping off their kiss
Twinkling within the soul of the observer
Magically, like in an illusion, like one huge celestial trance
No gem on Earth can compete with the star
She is beauty beyond compare.
The ancient array of the mountain ranges — Some holding hands
Others neither eclipse, call out nor meet
Arising from the ground, leaping high tearing into the sky
A magnificent vision, an inspiring sight
The earthly mountain cordillera —
The anklets that adorn Mother Earth's precious feet.
Wandering around aimlessly with life taking speed and power
Kingdom Meteora devastating the passionate darkness around
Go ahead, wish the wish of your life
Lover, conqueror, dreamer — Abducted from your material world
Here, you found your self
As not all those who wander are lost.
Flowing with grace, inborn pride and honor
Sultry, sensual, worldly, wisely
Beautiful transparent, suspicious translucent or dangerous blue-green opaque
The Ocean sings to us the secret lullaby
Gushing and roaring out loud like a woman forced into burning pyre
Whispering her twilight prayers — seductively into your ear
Leaving you boundless and bare,
and to your imagination, she stretched it a far far way.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC