MARGAZHI
Up before the Roosters Up before the Sun Down the lanes of Kumbakonam Across the Agraharam Following the path of Kodhai Chanting Thiruppavai Draped in crimson like the Sky In a saree she passes By Carrying water, the misty Wind Like her hair, droplets Within Fresh and fragrant like Tulasi In the morning she’s Ready Some might call it too Early But there she is, Margazhi
