In words

I speak with words
Yet the sense
Precipitates in a land
Beyond their world.

I’ve never chosen
Green for grief, 
Gray for gaiety
I have never said,
‘I’m tired’
With an expression
Of exhilaration.

Words
Murderers,
Saviours
Of the soil.

It is the non-words
That make words, words.

Still
All of this 
Had to be unearthed
In words.

© supratik 2020
Views: 407
critique and comments welcome.
Subscribe
Notify of
0 Comments
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments
Flag Content