World's Handloom Poem by ADIL HUSSAIN

The world is slumbering
like the cloth roll,
it is churning.

On the roads of palm fate is not running
but the wires they've drawn before me:
one for love, one for money,
all for all else and all ends-
theirs!

These wires from one roller
to the other are marching
and they are their own sheets weaving
with the filling wires
that from my nerves are spinning.

Is it not honour worth words
slaloming the crossed wires of the world
that like a mango my soul is squeezing
as they're fondling me gently!