(By Ashna Mathur, Poetry Editor, Paprikashta)

I see her,

strolling across the room,


With a tail following her,

sweeping her footsteps off the floor.

She’s dressed like a goddess,

pure white satin draped on her body.

She rests some on her shoulder,

and holds a bit on her elbow,


As the wind blows,

the wisps of her hair,

that refuse to stay tied,


along with the cloth,

she’s wrapped herself in.

She looks,


like an angel descended onto earth,

just to bless us with the grace

of her delicate movements.

As the cloth dangling,

from over her shoulder,

touches the ground,

heads turn

and breaths stop.

Oh, she looks beautiful in a saree.