Underneath the horizon,
till the pristine sun shone,
never did I hear any breathe besides me,
but I wasn’t alone. Into the woods,
where my own existence lie,
where the delightful blossoms binded by the iron-willed vines,
were now unshackled, as the sacred breeze passes by.
Each with their beloved ones, just was a moment of surprise,
where there was one for the shoulder,
and the other, for the cry… But I,
I felt none of their fluke, the light,
which the charming blossoms have might.
Wrapped in a buttoned ramie, Magnolia, tucked inside the antique shredded pyjamas,
had no hens to gaze, no chickens to amaze.
Bounded by myself entirely, I did have a family…
Family! thou think of the cute little drools, but I,
I think of my very own tools. Was called an ‘Orphan’, even with the existence of my gene, crisis hit me with a brick, since I was a teen.
So, I was raised by a ‘Knitter’, quite old and pale,
who spent his entire life, leaving behind beautiful trails.
The Interlock, the Fleece, and the knitted French Terry,
the Fisherman Rib Knit, would each quite vary. As a Knitter.
Jr, I was taught to carve, the most beautiful outfits at all times,
beginning with the hold of the yarn, I became his mime.
Before, I lived with him, but now, he resides in me.
His teachings are always within me and it’s true, for even if,
he is no more a part of the crew.
I am the ‘Knitter’, the warden of the garment world,
I protect and preserve the heritage, for all my inestimable handicrafts,
By: Sudarshan Kumaresan
Wow bro great poem ❤️