Monday, September 8, 2008

A poem

Sometimes, is an ugly pattern
On a satin cloth
stitched in distress.

In a happy mood
those earlier threads are broken
and restitched to same randomness.

In distress and happiness we lose
a sense of direction like the needle
and are left with scars on the finger tips.
(that fade into an equal brown)

1 comment:

Rukhiya said...

Equal brown indeed!