BRAIDS

One generation after another
Braiding long, black shiny hair.

Lustrous,
Cascading tresses
That magically twists
Into well-oiled braids.

Knowing fingers
Run thro’ this veil of mystery
As they unknot, part, plait
Dark dead tissues
With colourful ribbons trailing…
Framing a fair face
Of feminine Indian grace.

How long and how dark
Shall the days pass?
In the 3 fold twist
Of ancient form?

And how shall I deck
My jasmine dreams
In the timeless knot
Of the frozen centuries?