Kazakh Carpets Could Speak

By Salonista Cynthia

I am the blue of an endless sky,

The golden sun as seasons pass by.

My red is the fire that warms the night,

My white is a blessing, a promise of light.

My black holds the stories of those who came before,

Get Salonista Cynthia’s stories in your inbox

Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.

Remember me for faster sign in

My green is the spring returning once more.

My curling horns speak of abundance and home,

Of families and journeys wherever they roam.

I am wool shaped by hands, by memory and art,

A tapestry of life, a wandering heart.

I do not need words for my stories to be told,

For every color is a memory, every pattern a soul.

And if you listen, you’ll hear me say,

“I carry my people wherever I stay.”