As I walk down the Moroccan market, the hand woven carpets capture my attention.
Each carpet has its unique story of the dexterous carpet weaver.
I see the hidden anguish.
I smell the endless hours of sweat and blood.
I can taste the hunger.
However regardless of their hardship, dexterous carpet weaver learns to emerge as a rose.
His hardship reflects in the beautiful Moroccan carpet .
Inspired by one of my favorite gcse poems. The Carpet Weaver. I decide to make my own interpretation. Only to honor tradesman.
Written by Verity Vyas