A lady is walking to the lake.
An empty clay jar sits on her waist.
Her hair is hanging loose,
Listening to love songs, waving to the sky.
Sitting, she looks down
Saying hi to her reflection on and on.
My hair, thanks for growing long
And for listening to my love songs.
A lady is walking back to home.
A clay jar full of water sits on her waist.
Her hair is waving by the wind:
Spreading patchouli fragrance, calming down the lane.
Walking, she looks forward
Humming her best love songs.
My hair, thanks for spreading good scent
And making my life so fragrant.
My hair, thanks for being silken
And keeping this flame ardent.
My hair, grow grow long.
My hair, listen to these love songs.
My hair, stay here
Until home is welcoming me.
Each and every one deserves love and appreciation. Today I took longer time to scrutinise and caress my hair; this stubborn tough protein deserves love and appreciation, too.
A hymn for my hair is not too much, an extra love after shampoo to clean, conditioner to soften and sometimes hair dye to match the mood.
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