When words are wrought,
A spell is cast
Which weaves a mystique charm,
That echoes deep within.
Oblivious to the din,
With intense focus on the canvas in front
The tirade of the yarn continues
Creating marvels where ink and
P.S:I have been working on this poem ever since the daily prompt for the word ‘Yarn’ first appeared,but somehow try as I might,this poem still lacks a soul and sounds incomplete whenever I read it. Today,after writing two poems and coming back to this, it still stared at me with stubborn relentlessness.Hence,I am publishing this in the hope that even if I lose my manuscript, someday, somewhere I can attempt to write it again.For now, la fin est où ‘the meet happens’.