In The Warp And Woof Poem by GORDON GILHULY

dedicated to the memory of Iqbal Masih, assassinated, age 14



I am about to die

I am fourteen years old and I am dangerous

for I have spoken to my brothers and sisters

about freedom



I was broken to the wheel many years ago

when I was four years old and sold to the village carpet maker

because my parents did not have enough money to feed

me and my seven brothers and sisters



I was four years old and as you played

in your double-wide driveway on your new Big Wheel

I was chained by the leg, fourteen hours a day, for six years,

chained to a spinning wheel - a loom that

encircled my head like a funeral wreath - a loom

specially designed for tiny workers with tiny

hands because children are cheaper than machines and create

a better bottom line in this competitive global market



and Uncle Sam and Johnny Canuck never died for my freedom but

they buy my carpets at Walmart:



my carpets are well made for you cannot see my starvation

twisted into the warp you will never notice the blood from

my daily beatings woven into the woof nor will the deaths

of five million of my comrades in chains ever cause you to

say no, something is not quite right with this carpet,

there seems to be a stain that is visible only in a certain light



and now, at fourteen years of age, after four years

of running and hiding and telling the truth

of saving a pitiful small few of my brothers and sisters

I kneel before a stone wall my hands bound behind my back

my wheel has stopped my loom is broken

I am dangerous

I am about to die