Poem

Conveyors throughout time

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Lets all take a moment, and go on this journey in the past. A time when we didn’t have technology, telephones, telegraphs, email or sms.

Talent flowed in these carefully crafted human veins. Hands rich with cultures, stuffed with endurance and glazed with tenacity.

One set of hands held those fine dainty needles, played with the finest of fabrics and created those ethereal white embroideries.

Some hands carefully plucked out those bamboos out wild, and weaved them into in these great handy baskets.

Some were hardworkers, and rusted their hands off of the heavy nails and hammers, but channeled it into those intricate wooden carvings.

Some reused waste and compiled them into some beautiful miniature decor’s, painted with delicate hands.

While some used their hands to trace the life stories of those few masterfuls we have had through time.

And some found beauty in the nature, that fervent singing of birds, nerve provoking voice of the nightingale.

Even though we didn’t have means of communication, but our hands had ways that were conveyors of our traditions, our cultures and our identity.

Till date they narrate those long lost stories, which we would have had no means of knowing.

 

 

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