Threads of red and blue interwoven
Into each other;
Uniformly tangling till they form
A neat collar of a white shirt.
My head remains amazed of
How fingers perform the art of knitting.
For whenever my hands reach for the needle
The knot grows tighter until,
Mangled webs become home to weeds.
So that I end up weaving shreds
That make rags proud;
And wrap myself around with them
As if they were a sweater.
YOU ARE READING
Handwritten
Poetry"Sometimes I wonder If this is how it's supposed to be Can I make a choice ? Or is it all meant to be?"...
