This carpet - a Turkish Smyrna - is made with Gordian knots, tied by the fine fingers of a child tied to a loom by a thin, pale leg.
Every centimetre - a hundred knots This carpet - two and a half million knots all Gordian tied tightly by the fine fingers of a child.
Each thread is dyed with plants picked by nomad hands from shifting lands Henna oranges and Madder reds Saffron yellows and Indigo blues Colours bloom and fade with the change of seasons.
Patterns are centuries old, never drawn or sketched, only sung to the young by the old blind weavers, who walk the workshops and the aisles of looms.
In this shadow world of soured and fetid air dreamless children live threadbare under a black sun.
Wide borders holding everything in place no figures or stories, just a labyrinth of abstract shape and colour drawing you in to the treasure at the centre of the rug.
And the knowledge of the knots the Gordion knots tied by the fine fingers of a child tied to a loom by a thin, pale leg.
This poem tries to capture the rythmn of the old men singing the patterns. It tries to capture their rich colours an beauty but present the misery of the child labourers.