Cotton they say
Is cellulose that holds-together fabric
It too is the line and the thread
That holds the monsoon flutter of a sky-perched kite
And cotton are the bundles of fiber
That fissures out of a pod
Just like happiness bursting through muslin lips
Enlightening henna-painted irises
Bridging dream and dream runner
It is after all the purgatory
Lying between heaven and earth
Breaking the boy and making the man
One broken thread at a time.

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