Warp and Weft

Warp. Yes, I am the warp. Taut and unyielding.

There is nothing distorted or twisted about me. Truth be told, I have been distorted and deformed by an act of depravity. To suit a skewed mind.

I gave up on freedom to be stretched, to be tortured into this flow of perfect tension.

Never had it easy. Nothing came easy. Nothing came. Nothing.

I strained at either end.  I was pulled taut and tight. When I thought I would break, they stopped. My strength tested, assured and rested till the next assault came by.

I waited till I felt nothing.  Nothing. Till she came along.

The Weft.

Weak and fancy, floating with ease, picked between my every fibre, she insidiously crept into my hidden spaces, where I thought there were hardly any, weaving herself into my lines, waiting for me to ease a bit, before she snaked her way further.

I arched, contorted every fibre to resist, but she came with her own yarn, of how she would create this magic, how she would help support my arching fibres, how she would make it easy for me to let go.

Obvious wrinkes appeared in the fabric that was now taking form.

All because of her.

She could not hold on strong enough. She could not hold her own when the strain appeared. I pulled and she complained she had no space to move, to improvise.

She now claimed all the attention. Nobody really cared about how rigid and steadfast I had been. All that mattered now was how bright and how colourful she made the world. With her improbable rigamole of false dyes, she now grew more demanding with her narrative.

It all made sense to me. Every filament of my being understood. I was holding on to somebody else’s saga. Every strand of my being rebelled.

I let go.

I sprang up and coiled with all the tension and then I uncoiled slowly and descended. I floated all the way to my descent.

She rambled on about how lovely the world had been with the colour she added to it. Well, I could not get rid of her.

Silence, please.

She reminisced about the good times we had had and ranted that it was over so soon. Why doesn’t she realize it is all over?

Silence, please.

She never let go. For she had inextricably woven herself into my form and could not find her way out. Would not, rather. She still hoped, I would pull myself up and she could be this work of art again.

I shook her off, all I managed was to make a few strands loose. Perplexing tenacity.

I wanted to be left alone. She wanted things to be the same. She had her way.

It suited her, you know. She could never stand tall, taut and unforgiving. She needed a frame to weave her magic on.

On our descent we were caught by a couple of inquiring rods that projected curiously from the rock walls of a fort.

Had they been strategically placed to foil covert assaults and random attacks?

Anyway, we were caught and I finally slumped, bowed to my fate and waited to collapse.

It wasn’t meant to be. Soon, they came with a frame and more rods to create this structure that I didn’t understand. What purpose could it serve?

Stump me!

My fibres relaxed and her hold on me relaxed as well. She slipped reluctantly, her tirade went on tirelessly, she could never allow herself to deteriorate.

I, however, wanted to decline into oblivion. Degenerate that I was, I wanted her to plummet to her fate, but she held on. And I had to hold on, this dratted supporting frame…

And so here we are, frozen in time, the gaps forming between us and widening with time.

A mere lapse in time will allow life and death to take its own course.

In the meantime, well, come to think of it, it baffles me, how we still create magic, you know…

A dance of light and shadows.

Predominantly shadows that loom large and dance whimsically, offering respite from the unrelenting sun.

She cannot stop talking about that either. As if the shade existed only because of her. Yes, she brought the shade in, along with me, but in a distorted world, only she gets credit for it. Rather, she unabashedly claims credit, ignoring my role in the entire matter.

My role? Oh, now completely forgotten, even by you…

You see, the tension, I created the vertical fibres that pulled with force. I set myself up. She came my way and decided to undulate from loose skeins to become my horizontal… I had been minding my business till then…Well, you know the rest of the story…She is the weft you see, and I remain the warp.

And I am defeated.

Nonplussed.

Shhh…silence now, for here they come, to seek welcome shelter from the sun.

Welcome, strangers.

Ah, blessed silence. Despite her.

 

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An incredible photograph by Jasvinder. Thank you for generously sharing this beauty with me. XOXO

Stump

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26 thoughts on “Warp and Weft

    • Thank you Lorrie…you are right it is kind of personal😉…I was trying to bring in an allusion to marriage…and an association between people with different personalities…Thank you for reading and letting me know what you think ❤❤❤❤❤

  1. What a vivid picture you paint with your words…I could only sigh deeply at the end.

    One of my children came to mind within the first 4 lines…had to send a link to this phenomenal piece.

    • Thank you, Pearl, for reading my work and appreciating it with such wonderful and powerful words. I feel touched and deeply grateful that my words strike a chord with you. ❤

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