Attractively woven carpets speak
of conversations that have taken place
above them, the ghosts
that still haunt them
artistry underfoot
each containing a deliberate flaw
lest the weaver think himself
on a par with Allah.
Prized beyond synthetic counterparts
nylon, dynel, industrial grade
carpet, showing no wear
no evidence of passing lives,
silk and woolen weavings
live on to link us
with aesthetic impulse
forever underfoot, humanity
silently beautifully speaking,
the voice of the carpet
more subtle and lasting than
the meaningless chatter
of twitter and facebook.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem