She folds her mother’s saree,
the fabric at the edges frayed,
the loosened threads like forgotten stories.
The jasmine scent still lingers though,
almost as if woven into the silk.
A reminder of the hands that once draped it,
wrapped it around like a whispered prayer.
Today, She unfolds it differently,
stitches on a new border.
The gold of new tales
replaces the old unravelled threads.
This is the story of a past
A past carried forward
and transformed.
***
Madras Courier originally ran as a broadsheet with a poetry section. It was a time when readers felt comfortable sharing glimpses of their lives through verse. If you have a poem you’d like to submit, do email us at [email protected].
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