The Tapestry of Us

Beneath the loom, threads lie waiting—

some bright as sunrise,

some deep as shadow,

some frayed,

some new,

all yearning to belong.

The weaver's hands falter,

for too long, a single thread

was given the stage,

its golden glow blinding the rest.

But the beauty of the tapestry

is not the dominance of one hue.

It is the dance of contrasts,

the harmony of edges meeting,

the strength in woven difference.

The loom groans now,

straining under the weight

of threads once silenced,

now tugging for space.

And still, the weaver works,

patient and sure,

for the story of the cloth

is not told by silencing colors,

but by letting them sing together.

Each thread matters—

the jagged and the smooth,

the dark and the radiant.

Without them,

there is no pattern,

no strength to withstand the pull of time.

We are the threads,

each carrying a truth,

each longing to be seen,

to touch and be touched by others.

Together, we are not chaos—

we are a masterpiece,

unfinished yet infinite,

woven with care,

a testament to the power

of belonging.