Risa Weaves Tales of the Tradition

In Tipraland, where looms click and clack,

A woven wonder, on weavers' back.

Risa, the cloth, a creamy delight,

Handcrafted beauty, bathed in sunlight.

Tripuri women, with practiced hand,

Weave tales of tradition, across the land.

Reang and Jamatia, Noatia too,

Their threads interlock, sparkling and true.

Cotton so soft, or silken sheen,

Risa's embrace comforting the teen.

Borders of magic, in colors so bright,

Geometric patterns, a geometric delight.

Wrapped with grace, a woman's attire,

Or a heady scarf, setting hearts afire.

For carrying babes, a cradle so sweet,

Risa's embrace, can't be beat.

A cultural treasure, a tradition grand,

Passed down through generations, hand in hand.

Each thread a whisper, a story unfold,

Of Tripura's spirit, brave and bold.

So let Risa flourish, with every design,

A symbol of unity, forever to shine.

A woven testament of tribes strong and free,

Risa's magic wraps you, for eternity.