Written by Wafi Ali
I pull at human threads at the feet of division.
Twisted and tangled, they cackle with derision.
A crumpled throw, crumpled dreams;
I sew and sew, but I shall not sleep.
Does destiny conceal a moment of respite?
Nigh, any repose for me will be transient, a mirage.
Traipsing on the walls my fallacious cloths, my masterpieces
Vibrant pangs that stain my conscience, nay, my consciousness.
A voice, my voice, bellows
The penniless child, the sinful servant, the wailing widow
All of whom you cast into the shadows of the night
My sky of solidarity, incorrigible holes appear.
My vicinity of peace sectioned by knots of cruelty;
My heartbeat throbs like the saturated colours of my work unsoothing
I sew and sew, chasing redemption.
My forearms sizzle with pain, spatters of mistakes bombard me
I see splitting wool, loose threads dangle
Loose threads of compassion, unity, peace entangled.
You shall reap what you sow, they said.
I did. Seeds of tradition, deeds of pride.
I sew a blanket, to cover my guilt;
Now I sew in vain.
I sew a quilt, to hold me tight;
I sew human threads to shield us from our self-inflicted blight
Yet even this fleeting fusion of fibres unfit to my purpose
I sew for salvation, my own, not for all of creation.
I wonder at my artwork, incomplete; wishful;
Can a needle so sharp ever sew gentle?
More loose threads, enjoined no more;
I sew them together, weave over woe.
I scream.
Sew away my invisible sins, forevermore!
Let me sit in peace, sew ethics evermore.
One day I will rise, with a cloth so unblemished
Too seamless, flawless for a spot on my wall
Wefts and warps, my remorse unravelled
Metamorphosed into my forgiving grace
Not held back by blandness, rather for all to see
Will I be redeemed, once they see me?
A rocking chair is like a pendulum;
But never will it cease to swing.
I take my last breath, sew my last stitch;
My masterpiece shines, I relive my conquest;
Into the night I shall disappear,
A light left behind, a trail of goodwill.
We all blindingly see the division, conflict, anger engrained in our societies, yet obliviously we prioritise our individual needs over the collective good. There may come a day of reckoning, when we grasp our complicity in the world’s state. But by then, as we desperately try to ‘sew’ ethics into the fabric of our existence, our utopian vision for the world may remain far out of reach. Our lives are ticking away, like the relentless rocking chair we will inevitably occupy one day, and the sheer resources we take for granted may be obsolete. Therefore, we cannot wait to lament the misdeeds of a lifetime. The time for tangible legacies is now, not just messages of goodwill, but actions that truly inspire.
