Who am I?
Am I the heartbroken dame standing by the window
Trying to catch a final glimpse of her lover before
He goes out to the war? Or the rebel lady
In denims and boots, puffing away the cares of
The world, wearing a mask of nonchalance,
Concealing the hurt of her heart?
Perhaps I am the little child playing at the curb,
Oblivious of the sin of Adam, whose burden his kind
Still bears. Surely, I am not the reflection I see
In the mirror. The reflection is tainted. I deny it.
I think I know who I am.
Weaver of words, creating beautiful patterns on paper,
Using the pen as my agent, celebrating the tales
Did you like my tapestry?
Image Source: Internet