Nine Yards : 2nd Runners Up | Season 5

– Yeshaswini

I wish to tell you a story today.
One of nine yards,
And the women over which it is draped,
I wish to tell you the story of a country,
And its daughters alike.

My mother is a warrior.
She is a land where beauty is bold,
Her rivers speak loud,
Her mountains rise, covered in snow,
She bears deserts and plains,
Where verses of her victory grow,
And her valleys carry the echoes,
Of stories of her freedom, of her fight.

My Mother is the very essence of life.

She has fought for her own dignity.
It is so easy for us
To acknowledge her beauty and ignore her pain.
How convenient to think,
She would never face injustice again.

India has been singing for her daughters
A war cry, an echo which is fighting against the wind
Leaving her, leaving me, with a struggle in silence.

This saree which is draped over her daughters,
It is blood red, a tradition, a sacrifice.
It is a reminder of the blood we will bleed,
While our mountains are abused,
While our flowers are plucked,
Our every inch exploited,
While our plains are left to become barren land,
And nothing grasps our outstretched hand,
Not even the echo of our cry for help.

The borders of this saree are invaded,
Just like those of my mother were.
These foreign objects of colonisation,
Conquer our skin and invade our bones,
Stripped of our precious stones,
Like in the story of Queens and their thrones,
These daughters fight for their freedom.
Mouths sewn shut with gold thread,
You hear our silver anklets instead,
Along with the jhumkas which rattle on our ears
But can you hear our hearts beat?
Can you feel our fear?

This daughter of India fights,
With an attempt to find her voice.

The nine yards of this saree,
Are now embroidered with our truth.
It is draped across our mountains,
Pleated along our plains and pinned to our borders,
And our pallu flows like the words from my mouth,
And the ink from my pen,
These daughters of India will not be hurt again,
For India has taught them well.


This is the kind of poetry which cuts your tongue.
These verses come from women so strong,
It was nothing but a mistake to do them wrong.
They are fighting for their pride, for a win,
By using their voices from within.

These daughters of India fight to prove,
That they are not property to be owned,
That they are not filed cases or doubted complaints,
But women who practice humanity with no restraint,
They are women with an abundance of love,
And enough light to nurture the world.
Just like my Mother did.

This story of mother and daughter,
Is one of overwhelming strength.
These bruises upon this tainted brown skin,
Speak volumes of the history of their kin.
India is mother to daughters who are yet to heal.

Do not underestimate the power of women,
Draped in nine yards.

With these verses which we religiously recite,
I have learnt from my mother how to fight.
I will immortalise her efforts in poetry,
Make her and my sisters warrior goddesses,
Through my words and verses,
I will make you this promise.

That India and her daughters will be free,
And it all starts with poetry.

4 Responses

  1. Thrilled at how you weaponized words and announced the powerful influence of poetry (This is the kind of poetry that cuts your tongue” and I bow

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *