Worded

Is there a tunnelway to poetry
Where mine meet yours?
Two poets can not live together.
Verses make a world of their own
when they are asleep.
I have heard words whisper with each other,
make love, maybe.
We are insignificantly coupled.

I know not how
often have I fed a poetry.
Are you grateful that they come?
Redemption is dangerous.
They come as punctuations
and can unsettle you, unexpected.

Beneath the poetic soul,
there is another who is a labour,
who constantly bears the load of words,
carefully places, sweats and still does.
We are too lost in the hemisphere.

Lonely words -
Vagrant, vagabond, orphaned
ride the bridge of other words
and console each other
when the complacent is asleep.

That is why
You keep a rose inside them,
You will see it died of salinity.


SoUmY@

Comments

Cinderella said…
"Beneath the poetic soul,
there is another who is a labour,
who constantly bears the load of words,
carefully places, sweats and still does.
We are too lost in the hemisphere."

I couldnt identify more.

Orphaned and otherwise I have lived,
ran to and fro and bridges that lay continents apart.
The only thing that has kept me running.
Words.
Tamarind~ said…
And this one unsettles me. It Haunts, really!
Usha Pisharody said…
Gosh! You don't mince words do you? Though those words mince the soul!!!

"Are you grateful that they come?
Redemption is dangerous."

That is no mere marvel of construct; that is a tiny but tiny pinpoint dagger thru' consciousness!

In fact the whole poem is. I had goosebumps reading this. Bravo for the articulation. And thank you! You begin to make me want to redeem a few weighty thoughts :D!!!

Thanks Soumya! Just that. For the pleasure of poetry!

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