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@