ode to mother's bangles

Tinkling Jingling my mother's six gold bangles
Not one more not even one less, just six bangles
No time, day or year makes any change in the bangles
They remain there the same six gold bangles

The first ever sound of this world that I realized
Perhaps the only sound in this world that I recognized
First sound which seeps into my ears with the promise of dawn
Also the last sound which soothes me down till my last yawn

I may not pay attention to them keenly during the day
But I'm sure they are very much there in my life day after day
I can feel them working in the temple getting ready to pray
I know they are silent asking for beautiful God's ray

They accompany her in the kitchen, adding flavor in our lives
Working diligently with pans, plates, cookers, dishes and knives
Sure there is some great magic that they weave in our lives
For she is the charioteer and the household she drives

They get silent for brief spells when they are peering into a book
But sometimes they are very swift when she has a worried look
Sometimes they are very rhythmic, oh! Ironing work they took
Random arrhythmic sounds convey some insect got a shook

If I join them in groups, all in all they make three pairs
They are beautiful wherever they are, no not elsewhere
The solace that I hear from them, I dare not compare
My world is safe, my world is secure I know they are there