They come in soiled, forgotten colours,
made of inferior cotton,
made for breaking
and of use only to the delicate touch,
these threads.
They are offered simply
for a singular weaving
possible only with heart-fingers
as such whose caresses I’ve known
in moments
so terribly orphaned since.
[This is the title poem from my collection 'Threads', shortlisted for the Gratiaen Award 2007]
LEAVE A COMMENT
a short but a good one i think that this poem tells us about 'life'
ReplyDeletesome weave life using 'thread' and some other bring foreign currency to my mother land thanks to the girls who weave garments using threads
and your poem remind me of a song sung by Mr.W.D. Amaradewa
' sannaaliyane sannaliyane mei himidiri udaye ... santhosen oba hinehee hinehee kaatada kaatada anuduma wiyanne ..........'