To college in a traditional sari
As eyes as small as mice,
Drip with imprudent jealousy.
In a traditional sari
You enter the realm of dreamy, jilted liars.
You alone, shining like the graceful moon,
Sans the shady ditches;
Its fibrous, creamy arms hugging your dizzying form.
I dream of it,
Of creating a wall of cloth,
So soft, it melts
As sunrays titter
And be the robe that sleeps on your balmy skin.
I wish I were the folds in your sari,
Carefully trimmed and fixed at places
Like the mellowing crest of a wave;
Ripples that hop with stony crave.
I travel like an estranged lover
In the shady realm between the folds;
Phrasing unrequited love,
The muzzy skylines that tilt and sway,
A border with a golden hue;
I wish I were a golden thread
Over which you run your mellifluous digits.
As pungent gazes of desire scan your glowing mane,
My eyes spot your beautiful mind.
Mirrored in your smiles
O! Charming maiden,
How traditional my loves is
Like your attire that intoxicates me.