Spinning Song

Pamdini:

My sisters plucked green leaves at morn

To deck the garden swing,

And donned their shining golden veils

For the Festival of Spring. . . .

But sweeter than the new-blown vines,

And the call of nesting birds

Are the tendrils of your hair, Beloved,

And the music of your words.

Mayura:

My sisters sat beside the hearth

Kneading the saffron cakes,

They gathered honey from the hives

For the Festival of Snakes. . . .

Why should I wake the jewelled lords

With offerings or vows,

Who wear the glory of your love

Like a jewel on my brows?

Sarasvati:

My sisters sang at evenfall

A hymn of ancient rites,

And kindled rows of silver lamps

For the Festival of Lights. . . .

But I leaned against the lattice-door

To watch the kindling skies,

And praised the gracious gods, Beloved,

For the beauty of your eyes.