The Tattered Rag

I haven’t heard this word or the phrase “on Tenterhooks” before but i felt something when i read about it.

I haven’t read any phrase so literally close to the word used in it.

Or maybe i felt very strongly about it to think that way.

You know what i felt?

My life that looks pretty much like a rag,

Filled with random patchwork to keep it intact,

On the tenterhooks for a very long time…quite literally..

Every situation increased the pressure on the nailed rag..

The tenterhooks started to twist mercilessly

Rag was fighting hard…trying to hold onto its veins..

Then one brutal twist ripped it from the edges..

And a tattered cloth was left on the discretion of the winds..

Some of its fingers and toes still hanging on the wall of despair

Now the rag is flying, slowly..

Swinging on the rhythm of painfully calm winds..

Its looking down on the dusty ground willing to find a place to rest, its getting tired..

But guess what.. it has never touched dusty grounds..

So, its just being whisked along with the winds

That are unaware of its existence, let alone its feelings and fears..

They are doing what they are supposed to do..

Being carriage to random fragments of lives, detached and lost..

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