The Indian woman
can never do without men.
She isn’t crazy, just she’s so fond of them.
Much early the love stories of her men,
she begins
by loving her father. The man. Followed by her brothers who in return
adore her, irrelevant her age old or young. To them she’s sister love.
She is always affectionate. Tying a ‘Rakhi’ in wrist or
on ‘Bhaiya Dooj’ decorating
his forehead, prays
for his protection. On brothers day.
As she steps, with marriage into her new home
husband in arm, she is coy, beautiful and charm.
Tattoo from sandalwood paste;
like fine filigree
on her face; temple; cheek. Ornamented; henna-hand
she blushes through her red veil; wearing ‘Bindi’ garland
and vermilion. Perfect epitome woman; in sari red.
Tears of joy and calm pour down
her eyes.
Her love profound, she bears her husband, sons.
Lives to love her man ‘Patiparameswaram’ taking
pride in nurturing her children. The daughter
she teaches, ways, art to inherit heart
loving.
Her sweet fragrance, conquer the man’s imagine.
In her stride, each day that make her strong
She finds pleasure in sacrifices day long
Her true love grows and shows,
she cares.
Treating good, her brother in laws,
like her own brothers.
She follows ritual. In gesture respect, touch
father in law’s feet, in ‘Pranam’
receive his blessings.
Earn love and affection, thus privileged,
from parent in laws and own parents.
Whether
office or home, duties in smile she performs.
Equally comfortable in T-shirt jeans,
trouser shirt, salwar-kurta, saris.
About the Indian woman and stories of her men;
She’s forever; never without one.
By chance; the loving God takes her husband away before;
An anchor she finds sure; in her eager affectionate
ready to care for his mom; son.
The wise woman
in her silver strain, perfect companion
take pleasure playing games with grandchildren.
Rich, poor, literate, illiterate the elegant woman Indian
Touch man in give and take removing unwanted substance, always caring.