Phrozü li : The Lamentations of women

The last two weeks haven't been the most fruitful of weeks for us sisters.
First, Azi comes down with the flu, followed by Lulu and next is Mercy with an allergic rash which is still driving her nuts. Kuvelü is the last man(sic) standing.
So everything is going real slow at the moment and we are tackling two of the most epic folksongs of all times to boot. So you can only imagine our state.

The good news: We finally finished recording one. "Phrozü li". It is a beautiful song and we hope you will love it when it gets released.
The bad news: We started the other song last night and it was such a disaster we had to stop.

Let's focus on the good news here and talk about the song we completed. Shall we?
Well, the song is not a happy one after all it is called the "Lamentations of a woman" and rest assured, it will give you some thoughts to ponder on for a while atleast.
When we first heard the song, the poignancy struck us so deep we knew we had to record this one ASAP. But were we upto the challenge?  It wasn't an easy deal. Four tricky harmonies and all the sustaining resulted in crazy rehearsals and we weren't in the best of physical conditions so we were all almost weeping with relief once it was done. We are really proud of it though.

Now, about the song:
This is a song usually sung by a big group of women, young and old as they spin yarns of threads out of cotton in the traditional style. Some will spin threads out of cotton, others will roll them into balls of yarn while still others dye them and dry them in the sun. Some will then weave them into myriad and beautiful weaves, body clothes and shawls. It is a collaborative project. Young girls, learning by watching and older women sharing their knowledge and tricks while the maidens showoff their skills. The song they sing is soulful and melodic; the lyrics speaking volumes using few words.

The lamentations of a woman are many.
In our silence rings volumes of uneasy truth.
We toil in unseen ways and our aches unspoken.
The fruits of our labors enjoyed.
Gratitude seldom comes our way.
While complaints unceasingly flow loud.
Perhaps we made a vow to weep in silence,
While drying others' tears all around.
A sister, a daughter, a mother in deed,
But none to call on when in need.

Citizens of nowhere and propertyless.
We belong to the one who keeps us.
We earn nothing and keep even less.
We are always prepared for change and eventualities.
No questions asked.
Youth is a scourge and aging, a curse.
Beauty is fleeting and kindness taken for granted.
But our chores multiply day by day.

This season, a decked up bride,
Next season, a sagging beast of burden.
While our husbands' youth renew,
Our wrinkles increase in count.
Who has time to listen to our tales of woe?
Who will hold our hands through the darkness?
Who will wipe the sweat off our brows?

Oh! many are the lamentations of a woman.
But we do best to smile and bear it.
For tomorrow is a day just like today,
But we make do and help the others get through.
And we gather together and make light of our pains,
In songs, we weave a happy present.

Like the patterns we discreetly draw,
Into the clothes you adorn yourself with.
Our invisible stories, our dreams and yearnings.
Happy patterns, bold ones, colorful ones.
Resigned, we soar and live in you.
This, our destiny.

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