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
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Related quotes
Wearer counts
Glass bangles
On a royal hand,
Golden bangles
On a common hand,
Which is in command?
Who it wears
Not what one wears
Lends to its demand.
How appealing
Those plastic bangles are
On that modern lady
With richness sprinkling!
! 06.11.99
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Baubles, Bangles & Beads
Wright, forrest
Baubles bangles hear how they ring ching-a-lingle
Baubles bangles bright shiny heads sparkles spangles
My heart will sing sing-a-linge
Wearing baubles bangles and beads
I glitter and gleam so make somebody dream
So that some day he may buy me
A ring a-ling a-ling a-ling a-ling
A-ling a-ling a-ling a-lingle
Ive heard thats where it leads
Wearing baubles bangles and beads
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jinlge Balls....(couplet)
Jingle balls, jingle ball all the way,
Into the soft thick bangles, bangles all the time.
Ravimiran Arakkal
poem by Ravikiran Arakkal
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Gypsey Eyes
It was the eyes that drew me in
Slinking 'round in every direction
Dark as the deepest midnight
Shifting by self-imposed selection
It was the bracelets and eyes together
Clanking bangles and dark brown surprise
Feather boa's and eyes that offerd no alibi's
Dangling rings from the ears of the skies
It was the seduction of one
By a vagabond thief in disguise
She was all: feathers, bangles and fluff
With the most incredible Gypsey Eyes
poem by Theodora Onken
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Vocation
When the gong sounds ten in the morning and I walk to school by our
lane.
Every day I meet the hawker crying, "Bangles, crystal
bangles!"
There is nothing to hurry him on, there is no road he must
take, no place he must go to, no time when he must come home.
I wish I were a hawker, spending my day in the road, crying,
"Bangles, crystal bangles!"
When at four in the afternoon I come back from the school,
I can see through the gate of that house the gardener digging
the ground.
He does what he likes with his spade, he soils his clothes
with dust, nobody takes him to task if he gets baked in the sun or
gets wet.
I wish I were a gardener digging away at the garden with
nobody to stop me from digging.
Just as it gets dark in the evening and my mother sends me to
bed,
I can see through my open window the watchman walking up and
down.
The lane is dark and lonely, and the street-lamp stands like
a giant with one red eye in its head.
The watchman swings his lantern and walks with his shadow at
his side, and never once goes to bed in his life.
I wish I were a watchman walking the streets all night,
chasing the shadows with my lantern.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Bring Me Back First The Season To Write On Sand
These beautiful bracelets of Motia,
This Kagal, this henna,
Glassy bangles and a tray of red-roses,
Beautiful are the green Anchal and scarlet suit,
The same is sound of the mill,
The same is the crowed on the well
Village is the same, same are the rites,
Same are the old faces but bear new looks,
The same tale, the same promises,
The same fraudulent are the oaths,
O! My old well-wisher, it is all right,
But bring me back first the season to write on sand.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Bows And Bangles
Born and raised in wilderness
Of suburban shops and schools
How she tried and tried to be satisfied
With a job on the typing pool
She hated the smell of carbon paper
The office so smoky and dry
How she longed for the day she would make her get away
And say her last goodbye
Bows and bangles on her fingers
And silver bells on her toes
That lady has music where she wonders
That lady has music where she goes
Married a guy with prospects
And so became his wife
And that my friend is the end of the story
'Cos that was the rest of his life
She could have been a movie star
She could have made the scene
Right or wrong she still hangs on
Each night to her favourite dream
Bows and bangles on her fingers
And silver bells on her toes
That lady has music where she wonders
That lady has music where she goes
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bows & Bangles
Born and raised in wilderness
Of suburban shops and schools
How she tried and tried to be satisfied
With a job on the typing pool
She hated the smell of carbon paper
The office so smoky and dry
How she longed for the day she would make her get away
And say her last goodbye
Bows and bangles on her fingers
And silver bells on her toes
That lady has music where she wonders
That lady has music where she goes
Married a guy with prospects
And so became his wife
And that my friend is the end of the story
cos that was the rest of his life
She could have been a movie star
She could have made the scene
Right or wrong she still hangs on
Each night to her favourite dream
Bows and bangles on her fingers
And silver bells on her toes
That lady has music where she wonders
That lady has music where she goes
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mother Becomes Daughter
The shopping mall
Brimmed with crowd
Individuals and families
With children and parents
Youths and elderly
Swarmed from everywhere!
Mothers got busy
In getting the correct size
Picking the right color
Checking the fitness
Buying bangles and belts
All ornamental in entirety!
Suddenly I saw a pram
Pushed forth by a small girl
Inside that, was not a child
But an invalid mother!
Mother was uneasy;
Daughter got busy;
She got the correct size
Picked the right color
Checked the fitness
Bought bangles and belts
Not for herself but for the mother!
Was that the proverbial saying?
That boat can enter a cart one day
And cart can enter a boat another day?
What went wrong God?
Daughter got promoted with distinction?
Or mother got demoted for the love?
poem by Rajagopal Haran
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My wish
Car and bungalow my daddy's wish,
Necklace and bangles mummy's wish,
I have to undergo medicine, my parent's wish,
To sleep for some more time is my wish!
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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Bangles of Rhyme
I want to give you my bangles of rhyme.
Will you go with me on the way of time?
I want to keep you in my heart
Even if we are worlds apart.
I want to see your smile always.
I know your heart is my best place.
I want to love you more and more
Because you can cure my heart’s sore.
poem by Asif Andalib
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154
The sky is an encrypted silver table
set with candles and ghostly bangles;
weaving mischief all night long
winds, gaunt predators,
straddle the courtyard.
poem by Morgan Michaels
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There Is No Spotlight That Comes As A Given
The making of anything look easy,
Gets the attention from those who believe it is.
And if there is any hint of notoriety attached...
Only those interested in what is done,
Seek the limelight and not the work and sweat...
Involved in the achievement of that pat on the back.
Baubles, bangles and beads...
And bright shiny things that bling to impress,
Is all most people want to address.
Assuming with success there is no stress.
Or the getting of a much needed rest.
There is no spotlight that comes as a given.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Modesty is the beauty.
Bangles in row on wrists,
A single stone on nose,
Pendulums from ears,
A golden rope around neck,
An Indian woman is devastating.
With a European, can it be so?
Feminineness gives beauty.
Indian modesty provides it.
29.05.2001, Berham
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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To My Love
To My Love
As a fragrant flower
Let me bloom a day,
And in your silken locks
Let me for a moment stay:
As the bright vermilion,
Let me be with thee,
On your moon-like forehead,
With pride for others to see:
As a string of pearls
Let me around you stay,
To caress your slender neck
And there to happily play:
As the tinkling bangles
Let me for once be
On your fair, lovely arms
And roll on with glee:
As the soft breeze
Let me for a time flow,
And on your lap play
Like a sweet child of glow:
The heart I possessed,
I know not how you snatched,
At your feet, now, my soul, I lay
With a love that is unmatched!
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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Don’t Tell It Openly
Tell me that you love my studs or bangles
Instead of saying that you love my flesh,
Which is true and which would make me blush.
You should not make me feel cheap in your eyes.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Ruined Souls
Decayed tombstones, broken-winged angels
still breathing in this courtyard.
The old kings, heroes and warriors having a long term rest
after a brutal murder.
cemetery flowers; some withered
but some in bloom.
there is no room for the spectators and tresspassers
who search their ancestors.
chains, swords, crowns, rings bracelets and bangles
all had been turned to dust.
nothing remained.
even their names and addresses
everything washed and vanished
by the heavy rains.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The wind palace of Jaipur
The soft pink of the wind palace
Does not jell with her poverty’s
Blazing red tie-and-dye saree
Too kitschy for our proud art,
Too sentimental for our souls.
Let us have bright red bangles
They contrast better with the pink-
There is still poverty left in them.
poem by Jagannath rao Adukuri
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Showing her teeth pearls!
I heard some wonderful sounds
floating through the air into my ears;
Is it her anklets made of fine sounds....!
Is it her bangles made such sounds..!
Or is it the sounds of dropped coins;
I am puzzled and turned around,
I could not find anybody,
Suddenly there appeared a beautiful girl,
She came giggling with a broad smile,
Showing her teeth pearls!
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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A Chorus
When at the moon-lit cold nights
Came out we all the girls an boys,
To be amused with hide and seek,
The long low wailing howls of dogs,
And heinous shrills of the little owls,
Cast fear, I became horrid recoiled,
Threw each of us a handful of dust,
To the direction of ominous harbingers,
To impede an instant invading calamity.
Often then in the foggy morn we found,
A robbed body in the thick shrubs,
With perforated chest, broken bones,
Lacerated belly, or stabbed heart,
For a few pennies, or a ring of gold.
Some fierce animals in the human form,
Disturbed peaceful silence of the village,
As flings someone a big boulder,
From the height, down into the deep water,
And the waves raise commotion around.
The bold moved indignant, the timid horrified,
The women young and old circumscribed,
The widow with broken bangles dishevelled hair,
And moved around her, striking hands,
On the scared faces with force full,
The head clouts binding around the waists,
With loose lurking ends swaying behind,
Circled they bending with rhythmic beats,
Protested against the deed producing voices,
The clamorous cries of lamenting chorus,
Spread horror in the pastoral spheres,
Making death for the alive too frightful.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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