"saree" poems
Maybe it's the way the national flag flies so high
Despite the country's imperfections
Maybe it's the way we're united
Not separated, despite the difference in cultures,
Believes, traditions, languages
Maybe it's the way you see an Indian eating with chopsticks,
The way you see a Malay in a saree,
The way you see a Chinese making ketupat's for Hari Raya.
Maybe it's the unity you see,
Maybe it's the goosebumps you feel when you say Merdeka,
Maybe despite the hate you have towards history,
Deep down, you know how grateful you are to be Malaysian.
Maybe it's the way you walk into a mamak,
And say
" tauke tapau roti canai 1 milo ais 99 "
And maybe,
It lies in diversity,
Beyond everything else.
Malaysia, tanah tumpahnya darahku.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 1:27 PM UTC
In India pongal is the best festival
It is not a mere ritual
We celebrate it in January
It is very very customary
It lasts for three days
Bhogi,sankranti and kanuma are the days.
On the first day we have a holy bath
Thinking that it sets us on the right path
Early in the morning we sit around the bhogi fire
Thinking it is the demon Ravana’s pyre
We put on a new and attractive attire
Dreaming life is a joyful boat shire
Children make wreaths of cowdung
Throw them into the fire like a gold ring
The villages are full of colourful bullocks
We sing folk songs taking neem sticks
The bride groom leaves for the mother-in-law’s house
The bride waits for him wearing a new saree and a blouse
Father-in-law gives the groom a costly gift
Mother-in-law makes a sumptuous feast
Younger sister-in-law teases the groom
The bride and the groom confine to the room
Mother prepares delicious dishes and pickles
Father goes to the farm worshipping the sickles
On the last day we go to the temple fair
I hope I made the happy pongal very clear
Yours sincerely,
JVL NARASIMHA RAO
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 7:32 PM UTC
Aara Priyanka Chopra Beige Net Saree. This bollywood wedding saree is beautified with resham thread embroidery on pallu portion and panels of the saree.Shimmer embroidered patch patti is placed at border of the saree add extra beauty to the saree. Blouse pattern shown in image is only for photo shoot purpose. Ara Priyanka Chopra Beige net Saree color of the product may differ from that shown on your computer screen. Aara Priyanka Chopra Beige Net Saree difference in color is mostly due to flash, monitor or camera settings. The images shown are only for you
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 2:05 AM UTC
Aara Priyanka Chopra Beige Net Saree. This bollywood wedding saree is beautified with resham thread embroidery on pallu portion and panels of the saree.Shimmer embroidered patch patti is placed at border of the saree add extra beauty to the saree. Blouse pattern shown in image is only for photo shoot purpose. Ara Priyanka Chopra Beige net Saree color of the product may differ from that shown on your computer screen. Aara Priyanka Chopra Beige Net Saree difference in color is mostly due to flash, monitor or camera settings. The images shown are only for reference.
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 2:13 AM UTC
In the morning I heard the Koel’s melodious call
It is a sure sign of Sneaking autumn’s fall
What a striking difference between winter and spring
It is undoubtedly season’s eternal king
I love nature’s green saree
She smiles with an uncontrollable spree
Her saree is full of beautiful flowers
there are very many different colours
Nature’s Bindi is the glorious sun
Her hair pin is the shining moon
She cools herself with her natural fan
Her stay here might be of a little span
She sits with an yellow sarree in the palanquin
The bride groom looks at her as if she were a queen
Her beauty and shyness is her divine pride
She is a newly married mesmerizing bride
the villages are replete with ripe corn
All the birds enjoy this beautiful morn
Mar 25, 2011
Mar 25, 2011 at 6:05 AM UTC
I saw her
I saw her smile
Focus out through the sparkle
Reflecting from her danglers
And the ones in the atmosphere.
Turquoise sequinned with beige
Crackers, all around her
Our first new year
Where she took me by
My hand, entangling fingers
Lacing, when she thought she'd
Lost me,skipping between
White walls and brown floors
Finding a way out
Through the maze.
Low hung ceiling lamps.
Dragging me back through my memory doors
Remains the same
White walls and brown floors
While I wait outside.
Inside you're having your chemo.
Crackers
Inside my heart
Slithering through my mouth
I see her in between
Those flinging and swinging
Prayer flags, I recollect
Hanging them in the backyard
Of our home, you
Bargained them out
A flea market, before
That year's Diwali
You had inside of you
A life that would bless us
In three months.
A tangerine Georgette Saree
And rhyming with it,
Rani colored bangles
Sneaking up on the roof.
Crackers
White walls, wooden floors
You lie quiet, unmoved.
A skyrocket ups in a distance
As I light you up in flames.
Crackers
You'd always come back
Focusing, defocusing
My memories' pitaara
Sparkling, dangling
Skipping and lacing
Through all those crackers
Lighting me up
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 4:21 AM UTC
This yellow saree she wore
Just once in her life had wrapped
A coy twenty-year-old bride
Tentatively setting her dainty foot
Into the hesitant bridal home .
Somewhere in the backwoods
Several industrious silkworms
Had spun miles of salivary yarn
In the foliage of the mulberry tree
To make this golden yellow saree .
The rustle of her silk drowned
The wails of the boiling cocoons
The worms died that beauty would live
In their plaintive cries lay bridal hopes .
My mother, the bride of yesteryears,
Is now as non-existent as the worms
That had ceased to exist spinning
The smooth silk for her bridal finery .
Her bridal fragrance lives on among
The delicate folds of these gossamer silks
That the worms had died weaving.
Death is so fragrant , so memorable.
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 6:03 AM UTC
When I was small
I had a favorite game
A game only girls loved to play
Paper dolls, pretty paper dolls....
My sister Sara dressed the paper dolls nicely
Elegantly dressed, pretty dolls...
and we loved to style them our ways...
We got bored easily and Sara begged me to buy more dolls...
I used my childish charm to get a rupee or two
My grand papa joked about our paper dolls
"no saree wearing dolls"? " no chapati making dolls"?
" No parantha making dolls?
and both of us replied.... " ohhhh.... shut up grandpapa"
When we grew up a little,
My sister and I were sent to a boarding school.
It was all girls school
and we were taught grooming, social etiquette
and how to be a lady...prim and proper
Dressed smartly, talked only when necessary
and sat up neatly, no head turns..
No giggling... only smile delicately
No tantrums or emotional plays...
just be poised... controlled.. poised and controlled...
Of course
We were not allowed to play paper dolls anymore
After awhile I hated the school...
Told my sister..... They were turning us
into paper dolls...
Paper dolls have no say...
They only follow.. They are puppets
Remember paper dolls we used to play?
All pretty in the outside but there is no life
to breathe....
Suffocated i felt here.....all I wanted to do is flee
Sis, cmon this is certainly not us... let's flee
WE SAID GOODBYE TO OUR BED AND WE DID RUN....
We managed to be who we wanted to be in the end
to live in real world, be with real people
given a freedom to choose what we wanted to do
with life...
We enjoy our life not the traditional way anymore
Have career and still we dressed nicely and elegantly
We are real people...
Unlike the paper dolls , who only look poise and beautiful..
but inside they are freezing.... lifeless....paper dolls..
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 8:40 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
Lal rang ki saree ka jawaab nahi hai.
Aisa lagta hai ki Rooh ka libaas hai.
Haseen Badaan ko chupati bhi hai
Dil kai dhadkanai kau badaati hai.
Kamaar ki woh thar tharanaa.
Kamil naaf ka woh chup chupunaa.
Woh gehri aur nazuk sai sozen kari
Aap ki khobsuraati ka izafa kar dehti hai.
Lal rang ki saree ka jawaab nahi hai.
Aisa lagta hai ki Rooh ka libaas hai.
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 7:32 AM UTC
Kamarul is going to his village
All of us are going home with him
Kamarul is bringing
A bangle for his sister
Rafeeq almost buys up a jewellery shop
Kamarul takes as saree for his mother
Divakaran is busy searching for a clothes shop
While making tea
While emptying waste-baskets
While feeding new paper into the printer,
Kamarul sings his own song
All of us sing aloud privately
While going down in the lift,
He learns to count
4
3
2
1
All of us leap towards zero
Kamarul goes home,
Taking our letters
To the plant on earth
To the wind that blows in the evening
To the friend who promised to come
To everyone, for everyone
We wave our hands, wondering
What would be the time on earth
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 1:08 AM UTC
They tell me to stick to my roots
because roots lead up to shoots.
They tell me to stick to my origin
unaware of how it acts as a prison,
My roots are Draupadi's hair that was twisted and lugged,
my roots are Panchali's saree that was tugged.
My roots are Sita's wrist Ravana wrested,
my roots are where Ahalya's chastity rested.
My roots are parasites that eat up its own herb and ****
my roots are rat snakes that eat up its own tissue and meat.
My roots are flames of fire that created and watered the plant of Sati,
my roots are pools of blood and long ropes that drowned and hanged LaxmiBai and Moolmati.
My roots are the dish misogyny flavoured with patriarchy,
my roots are naked streams of Ganga washing off their lynching and anarchy.
My roots are all the poison Shiva drank during the churning of the sea,
my roots are Dhritrashtra's aspirations and ambiguity.
My roots are its own herbivore,
my roots are the lava that burns its own floor.
And my roots are my flesh and bone,
so I am stitched to my roots altogether, all alone.
So as I cut my own roots, my roots chop me,
hence I stick to my roots while my roots remain free.
May 25, 2020
May 25, 2020 at 4:00 AM UTC
My grandfather passed away on a dewy September morning;
About 17 years ago;
My grandmothers glass eyes still draw a picture of fright in front of me;
I remember as she sat silently for hours;
Cold , vulnerable;
As if she was robbed of her breath;
Since then she has sliced her life into two parts;
Before baba, after baba.
Yesterday as we sorted her cupboard;
Over hot chai;
I asked her about a saree;
" I think it was before baba" she says , like an unconditioned reflex , an involuntary knee ****
They don't teach you how to love like that anymore;
Love like this swallows dictionaries and renders meanings, meaningless;
It moves mountains and drowns rivers;
It spoons the hatred and vaults it.
My grandmother never went to school;
Even at 24 today, whenever I see her;
She presses a 500Rs note into my fist and asks me to buy something sweet for myself;
Last time she did that, she told me he taught her how to count money after they were married;
And to say words like "curd" and "rice";
Every year on his death anniversary;
She still cooks food for people;
With a metal rod holding the bones in her thighs;
And pressing the bleeding points of her psoriatic palms;
She keeps adding cards to her monument;
And remembers love;
Everyday;
In hushed muted tones;
In lemon pickles and measures of salt;
And in a way that stuns me the most;
Without even realising.
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 2:46 PM UTC
What for you need a pen that writes black?
The man at the counter shot back
What has the blue done to offend you?
Look up the firmament
Over there the kingfisher
Once I had been to the sea
She was blue
Surely you prefer over black
A blue saree for her
So many men have staked their life
For the blue eyes of women
And then as if volleying the winning goal
Why not color all your wishes with blue
To paint the world blue-wish?
As I turned to walk away
My eyes caught the writing on his wall..
*Black ink for the black heart
For the fool and the dull
Blue for the man of art
With matter in the skull*
I had come to the wrong shop.
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 4:11 AM UTC
I didn't see her for three days
then she was back
but her color was not
where her hair parted
was starkly arid
on her forehead
wasn't the dot of red
and her saree was bleached white
yet nothing was amiss
she intently scaled the fishes
cut them neatly into pieces
though a piece of her went missing
She knows well
for no price
can she stop the sale.
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 6:02 AM UTC
Whirl!
My girl’s saree fringe
swirls;
round my face it
furls…
Blow again, north wind!
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 7:27 PM UTC
Today is my sister's wedding
A full day for me to shine
In my peacock green dress
The new full skirt and blouse
With golden laces and pearls
Full of laughter and music
House being crowded with
Close relatives and guests
With three of my cousins
Was standing near a table with
A plate of rock candies and raisins
Bowl of sandalwood paste
Me, spraying the fragrant rose
Water on guests with a smile
Welcoming them to the function
Stage was ready with a para,
A traditional measuring instrument
Filled with paddy, unmilled rice
Decorated with a bouquet of
Beautiful coconut flowers
Lighted bell metal traditional
Lamp,the large nilavilakku
With its glowing light was a
Pleasant vision to the eyes
Can see you all in the front row
Can hear the laughter of girls
With the groom's arrival
Girls,with thaalam,antique
plates with a lamp, lemons
And garland of flowers
Welcoming the groom to the stage
Bride, in her maroon saree with
Golden laces,tied hair decorated
With a ball of jasmine flowers
And shining gold ornaments
Covered from head to toe
Being accompanied by two aunties
Making her sit near the groom
Gorgeous romantic pair were they
With a heart full smile of their day
Exchanged their garlands and
Were given a flower bouquet
Groom tying a knot,a chain with
Thali, which was a pendant
Showering flowers on the
Bride and groom as a blessing
One by one to the stage giving
Wishes and gifts to the couple
Wonderful snaps with my
Sister and new brother-law
Time for lunch on a plantain leaf
Steamed rice, varieties of curries,
Fried items and the special
Sweet payasam with pappadam
Bride and groom sharing their
Lunch with love and laughter
Leaving to her in-laws house
With her eyes filled and red
One by one leaving the hall
Except the dear and near ones
With an after war expression
Tired were they,my parents
But happy to get their daughter
Married to the right guy
It's time to rest and wait for
The albums and videos with anxiety
In seeing my new dress and smile !
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 4:07 PM UTC
Her husband presented her
a very long blue saree
Since she has been using it for ages
it has many white patches
hither and thither...
When he roared in anger
striking her with a (f)lash
She'd use her grey saree
and weep bitterly...
Her s(u)on would often come and go
He'd give her a reddish orange saree
in which she looks dazzling...
Her daughter'd visit her in the night
with thousands of her grand children
At the time she'd wear a black saree
She'd narrate them many stories
they'd listen curiously with winkle...
Jun 6, 2020
Jun 6, 2020 at 8:42 AM UTC
What happened to her was disgusting
But she should have better not been out in the night alone
So what it was her job, she's not a man,a girl isn't safe on these roads
And what happened to her was indeed dastardly
But why did she have to go to that area
Being in that situation was partly her fault
The boys were indeed monsters
But did see what that teen wore
Her miniskirt might have turned them on
(Oh she was in a saree,never mind,moving along)
Of course it's all the boy's fault
But does good girl drink alcohol
What was she doing partying at 11'o clock
Maybe she was friendly and her no sounded like a yes,
You know,boys will be boys afterall
What they did,they should rot in hell
But why the hell did she take a strangers' help
I guess thats what being too friendly entails
And she has my full support
But, but,she was not a very 'nice' girl ,if you know what I mean
The jobs she did,the places she went
I heard she had many boyfriends
And don't take it in the wrong way
But she sort of caused it upon her
And that's why kids
Keep company of only 'good' people
And follow our orders
If you wish not such dishonour
Always be prim and proper
I can't imagine the pain she must be in
Now who will marry a bride with lost honour
All the reputation of the family is lost,better keep this a secret,don't tell the police
It's none of her fault of course
But western values did spoil the gal
And the boys did a grievous wrong
But she could have tried not being so free
It's not a West European city
Well you know what I mean
She could have, well, tried not existing
Jul 7, 2022
Jul 7, 2022 at 9:15 AM UTC
Yeh samaa woh waqt ka hai
Jab hum jawaan thai tum bhi jawaan thai.
Uss shadi mai aap ka aaana.
Aur mujhe bar bar dekhnaa.
Aap ka andaaz ke kya khanai.
Jau hum kau bebaaz kar deeya.
Woh aap ka nazuk natnaai phulaanaa
Woh aap ka sharm sai thar tharanaaa
Woh aap ki kali saree sai naaf ka
Meri aaukhai sai chupa chupi khelna
Woh aap ki halki se musqurahat
Woh aap ki thodi se sharahaat.
Aap ka andaaz ke kya khanai.
Jau hum kau bebaaz kar deeya.
Phir woh mera pass sai guzri.
Merai dil pai raiham na karkai.
Aur phir paas woh jab aaayi.
Aur yu muskurayee.
Uski sassai merai cheharai par halki halki baraas rahi thi.
Yeh samaa woh waqt ka hai
Jab hum jawaan thai tum bhi jawaan thai.
Yeh
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 10:44 AM UTC
Happily she walked towards home.
Bubbling and rippling like river foam.
A man passed by dressed well.
Entered her nostrils fishy smell.
She looked at the man and walked.
Away from him she quickly stalked.
As she walked a soldier crossed her.
Neatly dressed, wearing cap of fur.
She smelt bad odor of mulch rotten.
She gazed at him with face sullen.
As she came very near to her house.
A woman stood in saree and blouse.
Bad odor of **** and rancid butter.
As if the woman came from gutter.
She entered and disgust could be seen.
Thinking why don't they stay clean.
Her son came running with a smile.
Holding his nose stopped awhile.
Said ' mom why don't you bathe,
Your sweat is smelly, you're sunbathed'.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 8:55 AM UTC
She sits atop a hill,
the brown stone Goddess
Bleeding.
She squats and part her legs,
the yoni splattered with red,
Bleeding.
No cloth, no pad, no shame
a wild wild woman untamed,
Bleeding.
Her vermilion melts, and drops and paints,
her forehead to her yoni,
Bleeding.
The blood feeds earth
melting the hearth,
Bleeding.
The red of life,
preserved in a menstrual cup
Bleeding.
From the kumkum to bindi to choori to saree,
she a woman deliquescing in red,
Bleeding.
Sep 8, 2020
Sep 8, 2020 at 10:32 AM UTC
The Sky wearing the saree
Woven from the Clouds
Oozes the elegant showers
The younger leave touched
By the first rain drop
Is dancing in joy
The wet earth graced by showers
Disperses the perfume of soil
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 12:30 AM UTC
As he lay waste her bed , her
Body, body-bed, bed-body
As he lay waste her cushions and
a saree unfurled
As he lay waste in a haste
To **** the marrow out of her
Lay waste her blankets,
And entered the bed which
Wasn’t one of Matrimony
But a bed raised in pursuit of mammon
To sort things , the easy way out
He entered a bed and she too ,
Was entered
Body-bed , bed-body,
As voices cooed and quivered
As flesh writhed and squirmed
Tamed flesh
As pleasure heaved itself
And guilt oozed out
Somewhere, unwary children shouted
Finally, oh finally , passions routed
And people fled , a temptress left
In the temptress’ lair
And though the bed still lay waste
The pillows had a lot to boast,
A reward for the magnanimous host
Young tongues savoured dead flesh
On the largesse of a bed lain waste
In a temple of flesh.
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 7:20 AM UTC