Still a weaver

When all the reasons of glee,

Had trailed far, ahead of the time,

And gave me no trust of their revisits,

I saw myself unifying the moments,

Which my dreams had been lynching

For so long, in a naïve passion

And expectations from the coming spell


I found you then,

Who gave me a hand and pushed me upward,

With the other arm, round my reluctant days,

Which cried again to be lived and loved.


Yet I’m still a weaver, darning his days,

With an innate restlessness for the conclusions,

And maybe, I fritter away all your efforts.




7 thoughts on “Still a weaver

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