Spinners and weavers

I make outstanding words.

One day will be my last.

With each day's choices and beauties told,

I make my words everlast.

With a pen poised on paper,

I see the world in layers.

Can you see the truth?

Hiding behind hundred twisting ties and rules.

If the ‘shimmering veil’ didn't glitter,

We would be out of tricks;

And i, an humble spinner of words,

Would be locked in a cage with my work.

To survive and win sometimes,

We shine out empty disks;

Filled with nonsense and chaos,

Hiding the truth within.

Yet the spinners and weavers-

Are called out on the 'lies’,

On the 'twisting words’,

And their ties to the million herd.

We spin our words faster and harder

And show you our working tools.

Lead you to the room of exploration

And flag all the routes.

It is no fun to walk in straight lines;

Better to trip and stumble.

Easier to see with a map of the scene,

And talking clouds are no longer heard of.

I pen my words one more time,

On a paper clear of ink.

Can you see the layers that lie,

With links deep within the brink?

                              -   H.nandhitha