Like that old sweater
In the back of your closet,
You know the one I'm talking about;
It was your favorite,
You wore it all the time,
And it may not fit right anymore,
But you can't get rid of it,
Well, because it was your favorite
For all these years,
There are so many memories
Tied to that sweater.
And maybe not all of them are happy,
Or make you smile when you wear it,
But it hold the secrets and scars of your past,
So you have to keep it, naturally.
But every time you take that sweater
From the back of your closet to see
If it matches your outfit,
And you decide,
Maybe not today,
You see the faded color,
You see the memories,
And you know, just like your sweater,
You're wearing thin.

Knit that sweater for me, please,
That sweet humming with its peaceful catch
Your hands and their darkening crease,
A mere cloth of your hardwork
To stay with me.

When it wraps around me
On a chilly day
I'll feel your love
Your warm embrace.

Under the sunlight
I'll dream of the rows,
Silly reasons to fight,
But even if for a day, I was your foe,
Your love would cook for me,
Knead the chapati dough

Make me that beautiful sweater
On my 90th Christmas when you're above
I'll wear your colours, my dear mother,
Which will remind me.of your undying love.

everything was in its place in my nightly ritual
my room enveloped me with a feeling of security
i had episodes of my favorite show, ready to be played
and my favorite midnight treats all in a bucket

a well-deserved break from negativity, in the safety of my house
but i still felt empty.

see, the only way for me to really feel at home is to
open my closet, reach in its darkest corner
and grab for my only memory of you- a sweater
that's obviously seen better days
but it had your smell, your warmth
and finally, as i wrapped it around me,
i felt relieved.

and that's a problem.

I am tattered and worn through
I am tangled and distracted
All of my strings have become loose
My body is a knit jacket

Hang me on rusty metal hooks
I'm filling in your hollow shelves
Replacing every antique book
But he only cares for himself

I can't sustain my perfect shape
Because you kindle a fire
I'm a candle, melting away
And all I ever feel is tired

But everytime you hold me
My sleeves intertwine with pale skin
My thoughts are slowly unfolding
Now I'm ready to let you in

The waves of intoxicated clouds,
Rifled with the gun powder,
At the labels of green dark stripes,
Where we sat like bloomed flowers.

The light from the far beyond,
Has stood on the sublime figure,
Where the lost place dipped in silence,
Has been warmed by my sweater.

Thy the alchemy of nature leaves,
With a rift of that muse hemp,
Has stood this night's track,
And the eyes smiled as an oil lamp.

The night's tale has rowed to my old memory,
The storm has had a swift end,
Through hard life, and surrenders,
I still miss those guilty cents.

Old and stained,
ragged and worn,
with holes and even
unraveled and torn.
Love is like your favorite sweater,
well used and seen all kinds of weather.
After a few years
and several loose threads,
there may be holes that need mending.
Don't get too worried my dear,
as long as the time that you're spending
is carefully piecing the threads back together.
Love is like your favorite sweater.

My short legs can only
carry me so far,
but everytime they
bring me back to you.
You're like my favorite sweater,
you keep me warm,
you let me hide,
you keep me safe.
You're my home.
-o.b.

I try to wear you once in a while,
     making sure if you fit the same
     as the last time i checked

But then again, whenever i notice
     the apparent worn off, tired seams
     from the fabric that was once our love,
     I go back again and sew them together,

Carefully threading the gaps back
     where they once were sewn tightly shut,
     left with no space for inadequacy,
     hardly any place for scarcity of love.

My misguided, solitary efforts then proved
     a love with tenuous and delicate clothing
     that has misplaced its capacity
     to wear out storms and excessive usage.

Back there is where i find
     that not everything burnt out
     could rekindle its flame.