Bangles

The sound of bangles is the sound of change
As women work; the music of their hands
When glass clinks to glass and laughs arrange
To drown crescendos of life's slaving bands.
The sari-ed heads which bondage once had sorrowed
Bend with gold conviction all their own
Not embroidered with the blood men borrowed
And returned infected with the lust of thrones
The sweat, our ease; the shops, our homes; the kings
Lay bare before our eyes in these changed sounds
From clinking coins in brothels trading rings
To musical words, bangles worlds around.
"Wear six at a time, each bag contains nine.
Glass bangles will break, then three will you take."

I shake my wrists. I hear their laughs.