RANGOLI -The line continues

Dot.
Dot.
Dot.
Skillfully, a fistful of powder
Passes thro’ her graceful fingers, intricately.
Pause.
With thumb and ring finger
She ‘pinches’ dots -
Charting them on an invisible map
Then joins them, fills them
Never letting the colours merge.

With bangle’d wrist a-tinkle -
Delicately poised in midair
She decorates the earth
With intricate graceful patterns
Geometric designs
Symmetrical and perfect
While dawn twinkles on her wrist
Adding magic to the nippy morn.

Dot.
Dot.
Dot.
It’s over.

She leans back to behold
Her masterpiece
Another Rangoli….Alpana… Kalam
Unconsciously echoing an Indian ritual
That has been passed down the ages
Unconsciously continuing
The line of Indian tradition
To another generation
Another day…
The same beginning…
Romance in the soul
Of every morn.