I still remember staying up all night composing this one on the first of April, twenty seventeen. A poetry inspired from the relation of a dark cloth and a pure thread. It goes like-
This saga ain’t about bloodshed,
but about love between cloth and a thread.
The thread was pure white and delicate,
the way it would heal others was great.
But, that thread was in complete contrast,
to the cloth dyed in the colors totally dark.
The thread asked to fix that bruised cloth,
Listening to this, the cloth never healed before, was shocked.
He tried to warn the thread,
“I am dangerous” he said.
But she didn’t fear and took a pledge,
standing on that fatal edge.
The edge between the true light and dark,
where indeed grey had to fall.
Either in the light, and develop a spark,
or in the dark where sinners crawled.
The thread committed she would make him change,
and for the cloth this much affection was strange.
No fabric knew whether it was a boon or bane.
Weather it was a matter of pride or shame.
And their ostensible love was disrupted,,
for Time, the ultimate destroyer was there.
He snatched away the delicate thread
and left behind merely despair.