Indian Weavers Poem by Sarojini Naidu
Indian Weavers
WEAVERS, weaving at break of day,
Why do you weave a garment so gay? . . .
Blue as the wing of a halcyon wild,
We weave the robes of a new-born child.
Weavers, weaving at fall of night,
Why do you weave a garment so bright? . . .
Like the plumes of a peacock, purple and green,
We weave the marriage-veils of a queen.
Weavers, weaving solemn and still,
What do you weave in the moonlight chill? . . .
White as a feather and white as a cloud,
We weave a dead man's funeral shroud.
The simple act of weaving connects our life from birth to death, without clothing, we humans are reduced to the pre-human state. The poetess has expressed this importance of the weaver in our lives quite simply and eloquently.
5 stars. simple and sweet. This is from another dead poet, not dead at the time of writing...I suspect. Great rhyming and tale. bri : )
The poem about Indian weavers, they weav all things for Indian people to wear, we can read here that India is self-supporting in their own clothes. Very fascinating poem
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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9/29/2023 4:34:05 PM # 1.0.0.1115
reads more like a nursery rhyme to me.