My bangles in my arm are slipping
down. Yellow fading green is appearing in my fore-head as a token of love sick.
My eyes are shedding tears. Now I can read my health. My life is going away little
by little from my body. These are the words of the lady.
The
friend-maid adds to her lady.
Saying these words, you, my lady is in
distress. Don’t be weeping. You are going to be married. Aged women are going
to wear fresh flowers on your long hair. They will also put small bangles in
your fore-hand and golden bangles in your arms. They will flash light as the
cloud flashes lightning that appear in you lover’s hill-track. You will hear
your wedding band music as thunder hear in your lover’s mountain. Don’t weep.
 |
| Bangles, modern times |
Poet: Nakkirar
Poem belongs to 2nd century
B.C.
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