The slightest tear can ruin fabric.
Even as a child I had such a habit,
Outworn soles, ripped jeans, worn shirts;
The slightest tear makes dimes a penny’s worth.
Everyone always tells me so!
Even now they point their fingers and make jest,
When there is a stitched patch, or a holed vest.
The slightest tear can ruin fabric.
The threads slowly unravel if you don’t pay heed.
Even the finest colors, their strings too can bleed.
Untwirling, unfurling, and at last a full tear,
A fabric lays ruined when a heart feels despair.
A tear is the window into a houseful ablaze,
Flames ever cackling, it burns what was made.
The silk and the garments, they burn just as bright,
What once was beautiful, remains there in hindsight.
The slightest tear can ruin fabric.
Trust me I know.
Writings by Samson Mousa 
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