Tapestry of Life
by Umbereen Sultana Nehal

The Fates weave the tapestry of my life,
A living record of the seasons I have weathered,
Like the rings of a redwood tree.
This cloth breathes and moves,
Playing out the scenes of what has been,
Reminding me of tattoos on the illustrated man.

The changes in setting are marked
By the materials incorporated in the weave.
Old book covers interlace with ballet slippers.
Hospital scrubs mingle with hijab scraps.
An exotic potpourri describes my travels.
Parts of the cloth are bleached from sunlight,
Another part is smells of moldy decay.
At times the color scheme is coherent,
Other times it is a cacophony of hues.

What remains of those who have passed through my life?
Some are like the spring breeze,
They filter through and leave no trace of themselves.
Others, like a spritz of heady perfume,
Permeate the cloth with invisible scent.
Some are like a coffee stain,
An ugly mark obscuring the underlying pattern.
While others have been woven into the fabric itself,
So I cannot tell where I end and they begin.

Taking hold of the edge I twirl round,
As I wrap the tapestry like a sari,
I tuck the coffee stain into a fold.
The scenes of my life flash before my eyes,
Not one precious moment is lost,
As the Fates weave on.