Random Spurts Of Poetry (#Wat...

By A_Poetic_Kill

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When you can't paint with colours, Paint with words; When you can paint with words, Do you really need the co... More

Introduction: I don't know where they come from
Mr. Babbit
My sun
How do you see?
Snowglobe
Ink
Cereal
Mango
Wolf
Acrimonious
Forgive me, Son ( #PPC prompt "Lost Letters")
Amorphous
The quiet in the vacuum
Of syrup and subsidy (Fire and frost)
Murder mayhem
Not today
Ri-kuhv-uh-ry
Buttress
River
Dusk and dawn
Prayer Of A Living Dead
Little Women
Goldfish
Sepia
Waterhole
Horse Sight
Hermes
Closure
Climb
School
Fireflies
Forever
Sense of humour
Thanksgiving
More
Love, Lenore
(Don't) Expect the Unexpected
Aerodynamics
Tom Riddle's Digital Diary
The End of the World
Which title do you like? (New Book)
Which cover do you like?
Hiatus

Heirlooms

143 26 23
By A_Poetic_Kill

The off-white Kasavu silk, soft under my fingers,
Its border gilded with dancing peacocks,
Fills my head with the scents
Of frankincense and marigold
From when grandmother used to wear it
To the temple at six o'clock.

The red Gharchola silk, zari shimmering under the soft sun,
Its tie-dyed yellow dots perfume the room
With the fragrance of henna and rose petal
From when mother wore it on her wedding day
On a November afternoon.

The powder blue muslin, with clever chikan embroidery,
White vines flowing across the coloured cotton,
A gift from father, his eyes watering with pride
Seeing me walk out into the world, on my first day of work.

Now after all these years,
Grandmother has passed away
And mother and father live away.
But their memories,
So intricately printed and brocaded
Into the warp and the weft
Of these hand-woven fabrics,
Into this embroidery of myriad colours,
These block prints, this ikat, this mirror work,
Reflect the strength of our bonds
That could never be broken by Distance.

Our relationships are like these threads -
Heirlooms -
Our love carefully tended and guarded
And passed on
By each generation.

Until now.

Now,
Our clothes are no longer woven
By the love and care of hands
But mass-produced in heartless factories.
And our children who grew up wearing them
And we, equally guilty,
Have become as emotionless,
loveless,
lifeless.
We have no time
To look up from our smartphones
And our laptops
And our paraphernalia,
Ordering online love like online fashion.
We have no time
To make memories.
We have no memories
To fill into our costumes,
Costumes which we wear and tear
And throw away like soiled, moribund rags.

Machines have killed our looms
And machines have killed our homes.

We are dyed
In cheap chemical dye,
Toxic, poisoned,
Like our dying, decaying relationships.

~*~

Glossary:

- Kasavu: a traditional white and gold sari from South India


- Gharchola: a sari that a Gujarati bride wears on her wedding day


- Zari: a type of gold thread used decoratively on Indian clothing.

- Chikan: a type of white embroidery on coloured cotton cloth.

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