A Concept of Yarns
Uncountable yarns, the ones that are wrapped in balls. With so many different colours, so many different hues, and that one thread going around in circles, winding itself up. Maybe through its own decision, or maybe just another fulfilled obligation.
The balls of yarn, they get stacked prettily in a corner. Sometimes inside boxes and bags, and sometimes out there, posing on displays in windows. You find yours inside that place in your head, take them home, and then find another pretty corner to stack them into.
They sit and they collect the dust flowing around. They sit and they make friends from the bad parts of town. But one day, a nudge to the cupboard or a push to the box, makes one of those yarns come tumbling from its corner.
It falls down from shelves high above, unwinding the thread and then leaving a trail behind. Falling and falling while there seems no end in sight, in some time, it finds a resting place and breaks off. But another small kick by someone and off the yarn goes again, not knowing any way to cease this motion, to stop from losing itself.
Eventually, this yarn is joined by those friends from the shelves, who too were the victims of nudges and falls. The yarns keep moving but the thread, that trail, it is left behind. Constantly tangling with itself and tangling with other threads around. At one point, the yarns come to an end, no more life left in them. And that is when your eyes go back to the trail.
The threads entangle with each-other. Over and under and in all kinds of knots. The threads beginning from one end, and ending in places that are unknown. Taking paths that can’t be traced. And when you look at this, a web of colours left by the yarns, it hurts. The colours, their mismatch, the entanglements, the hopelessness of making them into yarns again, hurts.
But it isn’t your responsibility to take care of things born out of the nudges and pushes of people around. You don’t know who did it, but you are left sitting with these tangled yarns at your feet. You try to figure them out, but you can’t. Because no one can. No one does. Not you, not me. These yarns aren’t supposed to be figured. Atleast not alone. You can’t hold the mess while trying to find the endings to those threads. You try, but all it leads to is the tangles tangling even more. Making knots far more complicated. Enmeshing you in them. Because they are threads afterall. It is their nature to bind together, even if it means in ways that trap you with them.
They are threads, parts of yarns. They don’t care. But you, being human, you do. You do care. And that is why you need to stop holding this labyrinth alone. It might feel good to be holding it like that, like it is a guarded secret, a tall fortress. But just remember everyone has their own labyrinths too. And having someone else hold on to it, you with the beginning of the thread and another with the end, it isn’t going to feel like those balls of prettily stacked yarns can’t return. Maybe a little frayed. Maybe a little wrinkled. But those balls of yarns would be yours to keep and eventually, yours to make.
Because each thread, however entangled, can be wound to make circles again.
This is what my headphones do too.
ReplyDelete