Quotes about henna, page 3
Spain
Spain! You are the trustee of the Muslim
blood:
In my eyes you are sanctified like the Harem.
Prints of prostration lie hidden in your dust,
Silent calls to prayers in your morning air.
In your hills and vales were the tents of those,
The tips of whose lances were bright like the
stars.
Is more henna needed by your pretties?
My lifeblood can give them some colour!
How can a Muslim be put down by the straw
and grass,
Even if his flame has lost its heat and fire!
My eyes watched Granada as well,
But the traveller's content neither in journey
nor in rest:
I saw as well as showed, I spoke as well as
listened,
Neither seeing nor learning brings calm to the
heart!
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poem by Allama Muhammad Iqbal
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The Hideous Chair
This hideous,
upholstered in gift-wrap fabric, chromed
in places, design possibility
for the future canned ham.
Its genius
wonderful, circa I993.
I've assumed a great many things:
the perversity of choices, affairs
I did or did not have.
But let the record show
that I was happy.
O let the hideous chair
stand! For the Chinese apothecary
with his roots and fluids;
for Paoul at the bank;
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poem by Erin Belieu
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In The Bazaars of Hyderabad
What do you sell O ye merchants ?
Richly your wares are displayed.
Turbans of crimson and silver,
Tunics of purple brocade,
Mirrors with panels of amber,
Daggers with handles of jade.
What do you weigh, O ye vendors?
Saffron and lentil and rice.
What do you grind, O ye maidens?
Sandalwood, henna, and spice.
What do you call , O ye pedlars?
Chessmen and ivory dice.
What do you make,O ye goldsmiths?
Wristlet and anklet and ring,
Bells for the feet of blue pigeons
Frail as a dragon-fly’s wing,
Girdles of gold for dancers,
Scabbards of gold for the king.
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poem by Sarojini Naidu
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Unforgottable Eyes
you used to bloom
in my solitude...in my loneliness
blue and green
you used to bloom
rabbit blood, with henna, transparent
then i used to overcome
pains, worries and treachery
i want to go
i want to go to exile
to lie
i want to lie is dungeon in your eyes
wjy and how
where are your eyes now
it is not something like
to be or not to be
it is not
cogito ergo sun too
the real thing is
to understand
[...] Read more
poem by Metin Sahin
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The Gardener XVI: Hands Cling to Eyes
Hands cling to hands and eyes linger
on eyes: thus begins the record of our
hearts.
It is the moonlit night of March;
the sweet smell of henna is in the air;
my flute lies on the earth neglected
and your garland of flowers is
unfinished.
This love between you and me is
simple as a song.
Your veil of the saffron colour
makes my eyes drunk.
The jasmine wreath that you wove
me thrills to my heart like praise.
It is a game of giving and with-
holding, revealing and screening again;
some smiles and some little shyness,
and some sweet useless struggles.
This love between you and me is
simple as a song.
[...] Read more
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Grey Stones
I picked the stones grey,
Over eighty years aged.
When on them my ears lay,
Hear the melodies
Composed in yore days…
Music removes dust on my ancient mansion
With countless empty rooms,
All in antique fashion:
Miracles and mysteries
Hover over it always.
My rich grandmother
Ever spreads her wings,
And the rustics poor seek refuge under;
Homes father with cakes
And gather the kids with open beaks.
Behold the cat eyed maid,
Through my windows,
[...] Read more
poem by Fabiyas M V
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Woman’s beauty nonplusing
The beauty of women is a deadly, lethal weapon.
No sages, no emperors were spared.
Meneka sent Biswamitra insane.
Tomb of Begum Mumtaj is the world wonder.
War was bought on Chittoor Rani Padmini.
Rani Gayatri Devi of Jaipur swayed by her beauty.
Marlin Manro, Shophia Loron, countless women
Stood by their beauties and made havoc on men.
To beautify Indian women, were prescribed sola [sixteen]singara.
Bindi- on forehead to point out the third eye.
Necklace- to bring to view neck down.
Eardrops- to tantalize the viewers.
Flowers- to contrast the hue of the hair.
Bangles- to demand a hold of the hand.
Armlet- to invite an embrace.
Ring- to invite to clasp.
Waistband- to narrow the waist.
Anklet- to vibrate lustful sound.
Kohl- to catch the eyes by the eyes.
[...] Read more
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Malaysiana - The Cultures in the Maidens
The maiden of Malaya is full of romance
Her hair curls and flows the way the Straits of
Malacca meets the Andaman, stretches of love that
sweep onto The Golden Chersonese
Seeds from afar as the desert plain of Arabia, the
land of Taj Mahal, Asoka - you see them dancing in her
ebullient eyes, magical eyes with lashes so long they
flip into your heart to remain in warm quarters you
could savour in the dead of nights
Her finely arched eyebrows sweep you through the
swathes and swathes of Arab sand where you remember
the Prophet and all his sayings
Layer upon layer of her young passion is played out by
the sand that swirls with the wind the moment it
blows, turning the clear sky into a miasma of her
desires
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Darling Daughter of Babylon
Too soon you wearied of our tears.
And then you danced with spangled feet,
Leading Belshazzar's chattering court
A-tinkling through the shadowy street.
With mead they came, with chants of shame.
DESIRE'S red flag before them flew.
And Istar's music moved your mouth
And Baal's deep shames rewoke in you.
Now you could drive the royal car;
Forget our Nation's breaking load:
Now you could sleep on silver beds.—
(Bitter and dark was our abode.)
And so, for many a night you laughed,
And knew not of my hopeless prayer,
Till God's own spirit whipped you forth
From Istar's shrine, from Istar's stair.
Darling daughter of Babylon—
Rose by the black Euphrates flood—
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poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Lamentation on Lost Love...
The shrill serenades
drifting from flutist’s clarinet
rush to dance with the rhythmic beats of the wedding drums.
Festoons of golden marigolds bound with mango-green leaves
auspiciously dangle at the decorated doors.
Tear smudged pearl-drops drip from your hazel eyes
and rivulets of kohl streaming down your rosy cheeks
moisten your henna-adorned hands,
while pantomime-faced guests flock to witness
the ceremonial wedding of two strangers
Dressed in glittering gold-dusted wedding robes,
he will arrive on a galloping white-maned mare.
and will lead you to take matrimonial vows,
while your dainty lotus-petals feet
embellishing silver-belled anklets
will follow him to circle the holy fire seven times.
Then both of you will metamorphose
as ‘man’ and ‘wife’…
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poem by Bharat Trivedi
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