North India,  Photo Essay,  Poem,  Travel

The knitting lady

A village nestled deep within the mountains

Where the homes are made of stone walls and red roofs

and lizards dwell in abundance…

A village only accessible via a flight of stairs

A climb down off the road which is steep and long enough

To test your legs and lungs.

In such a hamlet stays a woman who is not known to many

Beyond her sleepy neighborhood.

Her hands remain busy all the time

As she knits a shawl or a sweater from the wool of her pet bunnies.

Her eyes sparkling like the droplets in bright sunshine,

Face gleaming with the peacefulness of a spring moon

And her skillful hands maneuvering in an enchanting rhythm.

Knitting lady


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