Essence, A Sense, Of Sensuousness
A Hairy Poem
There’s a reason why
Long hair feels nice
When its just
Above my waist, and
just below where
My saree blouse ends.
It helps if it’s curly, naturally,
like much of Kerala hair.
Just below the saree blouse,
and the space where the saree starts,
Is an area of skin
That’s where the hair should fall,
In a swathe of midnight black.
And then one should walk with a lilt ,
A sway, a cadence of movement
All unaware, yet perfectly aware
Because when
That swathe of open hair moves,
It moves all.
And I know, I know
That that bit of hair,
And the skin it caresses
Draws in more eye
Balls
Than bare skin
Sheer lingerie
Or perfect pouts.
Walking with a swing
Is all very well
But a sinuous slithery sway
Makes my day…
Makes everyone’s day.
There’s magic in movement
One foot, then another,
Slow, lazy grace
A gait that can trap
A look at a hundred paces
A cat-like, panther-like pad
Soft, so soft
The earth can scarcely feel it.
Like lightning is soft:
But I am not responsible
For the thunder that follows,
Am I?
