You started me
I feel like a string that has been involuntarily entangled
In the patternless fabric of your memories
Engulfing me
You are that lazy weaver,
Who started a graceful work, but died on me.
Left unfinished shaping me.
You only knew what you started.
I tried to build myself
Tried to mend the broken child in me
From the stage where you abandoned
And took up death as your eternal project.
I am unfinished, semi manufactured.
Waiting for you to comeback
From the unseen worlds.
To teach me
Teach me how to face this (mean) world.
Teach me how to survive the dark-hearted demons.
Teach me how to be brave.
Teach me how to smile again.
You started weaving with the finest silk
With the brightest colors
And You left your job and went away to a never returning place
Unskilled and uncertain, I took up the task
Of weaving myself.
From whatever I can get hold of.
There are lots of missing treads, unfitting patterns, uneven textures in me.
I get confused, weak, worried, and overwhelmed.
But I pause
I Unknit, untangle
Breathe
And I work drawing inspiration from what have you started
And I try again.
How can I ever give up on the abrash creation of yours?
I will never.
