The Saree


A six yard cloth
is called a “rag”
by those in the West.

Not stylish, nor elegant
as it claims or as it aspires
a long piece, that be it, they profess.

Requires no defence,
in the real sense.It is lovely,
taht much one can say.

The sari as the Indians
call this “rag”, suits
you and me, short or tall.

An oldie looks graceful,
enhances the young,
endows one and all.

The thin seem elegant,
the obese turn presentable,
therein lies the charm.

The warp and the weft
seamlessl in their bind creates
a wonder unwarranted.

The looms ply
with a zeal. The shuttle
works with an echo.

Threads of zari and cotton
go through the wheel,
integrate with a passion.

The output is a marvel.
A cloth with lines and checks,
with designs and motifs.

The colours play a vibrance.
the pastel and the bright,
the fiery and the subdued.

More can I go with the praise,
the West would say, I cry hoarse,
as I am an Indian and a Hindu.

The “rag”, is independent
of caste, creed, or religion.
It is a an attire of the east.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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