Bangles
In festival seasons,
Miles walked bangle sellers
Tread the vennel unforgettable,
On feet, worn and torn,
With white clothe bundles,
Full of bangles and their lives,
On their heads wobble,
Whose calls village girls listen,
Break their clay pots,
In which they had collected coins,
And buy bangles
In hues and designs diverse.
Some unknown artists
Shaped the designs on bangles,
Who never came to the limelight,
Instead, wages collected
And withdrew in to silence.
Village girls put on bangles;
Always mesmerised beauty little pains out kept.
Jingling arms love CDs inserted
In to the heart-players of rustic guys,
Who always combed their hairs.
Girls keep and care the bangles,
Like virginity, till the nuptials.
Bracelet turns bracelets,
Often, after the wed locks.
Uncared…
Broken…
And discarded bangles:
“All Fate”, they say…yes!
In kitchens, a few scattered;
Into wells, a few thrown;
And, also, a few burnt in flames.
Unalloyed simple joys,
Experienced worn bangles,
Like virginity, left village girls.
poem by Fabiyas M V
Added by Poetry Lover
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