Pictorial Prose

Pictorial Prose
Indulging my most lucid daydreams

Sunday, July 14, 2013


I have always been intrigued by the work put into hand crocheting a doily. My mother and grandmother would spend hour upon hours turning colored threads into doilies. I would  go through her drawers and look at the various colors, white, pink , yellow and rainbow and the purity and simplicity of off white. It was how they spent the harsh cold winter days, indoors sitting in the rocking chair turning thread into the most intricate of designs. It kind of reminded me of one of the fairy tales, where the princess turns spun threads into gold.
If you could put life into a weave, I think you would find that it also has an intricate pattern to it. Each day another stitch until we one day look back and find the doily of life. The people we meet are like the threads crocheted into our hearts as it presents us with an amazing gift. I was in awe as I held  the unique cotton pattern to the light, the sun shining through left a shadowed pattern upon the wall.It was as if each stitch like that crocheted within the heart held a memory.
The pattern revealed that yesterday might be like tomorrow and tomorrow like today but than it skips the pattern and you find the design more amazing than ever.
I do believe that what we weave decides whether we are living or we are alive. You can be alive and not be living. The experiences so similar and yet unique become a part of our character. I think to myself there is nothing that could surprise me and yet I find how wrong I am.

I found it quite amazing,
unique the day at hand,
when someone touched
my heart, like another
grain of sand.

I tried to understand it,
but I cannot quite explain,
a road that leads to nowhere
and path that now commands.


Lost and yet found,
alone and not quite,
sad and  happy,
heartbroken and
filled with Bliss.

Stand to battle or
given up, dark and
gloomy, sun filled

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