Of Knots, Stains And Winter

Of Knots, Stains And Winter short poem

Photo by FaceMePLS

Have you ever unfolded a sweater?
To rub your hand on it
To sniff the lingering scent of mothballs
And to touch the memories its yarn has

I do, I do it often
With my red sweater
It has many knots that I cherish
Many stains that never faded with time

When I am overwhelmed, I wear it
Thinking – it will rewind time
To that winter afternoon
When he spilled ginger chai on it

I caress the knots and contemplate
How we two were going through the same phase
Poor thing was once stuck in a broken window
Like my heart was stuck in him

Have you ever loved a sweater so much?
To wear it for years together
To feel him in it
And never give it away

Ah, winter!
I sew many memories in you
Ah, winter!
I sew many memories with you

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 4.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

1 Comment on "Of Knots, Stains And Winter"

Notify of
Sort by:   newest | oldest
Nadeem Qazilbash

Well loved, well written. The memories never fade, the ‘kodak’ of our minds eye remains.


Is It Winter Or Spring?

Is It Winter Or Spring? short poem

Gone are the days when we Used to ask winter to go away With the hope that spring will Come and stay. Instead, we are now on our knees Praying to spring asking it to go Because even the sun

The Beauty Of Winter

The Beauty Of Winter long poem

The cold air seeped down with no heart, What was once a sea of beauty and life, Now had been turned to a grave of white and death, The city had almost all but stopped living too. Morning turned to

Winter Song

Winter Song short poem

Old numbers, lighthouses, baked bread. I open my eyes. nervous and irritable. Another day with vertigo. Five shillings grew lighter and lighter, the grinning letters, occupied me, tender and cool. Things change their colour, and die, The ever-increasing noise, the


Winter prose poem

Here are stoves uttering trilling cries of joy, their tongues orange, their clothes henna. Here are chumps hissing، lulling, bowing and crying with hot tears; We’ve got a newborn, his hair made of winds and tempests, his hat a cloud,

Winter Rose

Winter Rose long poem

Here comes the snow again some people love it, I hate it I’m more of a Summer kinda guy it’s much too depressing to me being coped up inside looking out my frost covered windows and seeing no sun up