Rajeshwari: Pure Silk Black Chanderi

I hold the black of a sky with no moon in it, the kind of dark that gold was made to sit against. Birds rest across my body, each one worked in gold thread fine enough to show every feather, a single red mark catching the eye. Small gold buds float between them, scattered like something left mid-thought. My pallu breaks into a wide field of gold and black stripes, dense enough to hold its own weight. My border runs gold, plain and certain, asking for nothing more than what it already has. I was woven for the person who enters a room the way night enters a sky, without permission, without apology.