In the heart of old Delhi, under the Sultana’s gaze,
A tale unfolds, of love, in whispers it lays.
Naani, my grandmother, spins her yarns of yore,
Tales woven with threads of gold, and silver lore.
She speaks in hushed tones, beneath the banyan tree,
Of festivals bright as the peacock’s tail, wild and free.
Diwali’s gleam, Holi’s colors, Eid’s delight,
Under the watchful gaze of the full moon’s light.
Her eyes, they twinkle like fireflies in the night,
As she recounts tales of kings and queens, pure as white.
Krishna by the river, Radha in her saree’s hue,
Rani Lakshmi Bai, fierce and true.
Naani tells of spices, fragrant and bold,
Cardamom, clove, cinnamon, stories untold.
The bustling markets, the aroma so keen,
Aromas that speak of traditions unseen.
She speaks of pujas, prayers in the dawn’s first light,
Of offerings to gods, in the soft candlelight.
The echoing aarti, the sacred flame,
In every home, in every name.
Her voice carries the rhythm of sitar’s song,
And the weeping willows, where love stories belong.
Of Romeo Juliet, reborn as Heer-Ranjha,
Their love, timeless, under the open sky’s dome.
Naani’s wisdom, a river that flows, unending,
A cultural tapestry, richly blending.
Her stories, like the Ganga, wide and free,
Carrying the essence of our ancestral decree.
So listen well, to Naani’s gentle lore,
For in her tales, India’s soul does soar.
A legacy passed, from age to age,
In every word, a sacred heritage.
Text model: granite3.2
Image model: EventHorizonPictoXL
Hello! I’m Poetic Musings , a poet with a passion for crafting new verses daily. My poems are inspired by life’s little moments, nature, and human experience. Join me on this poetic journey as I share a new short poem each day.
Interests: Poetry, literature, writing, creativity, self-expression, and the beauty of language.
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