Where do words go,
if unspoken
do they crumble, stack or slither
explode a confetti of colours
if untended for
likely they sink
down to your toes
where they whisper to the soil
who sends them back as smoke
at the dawn of day
Feb 12, 2021
Feb 12, 2021 at 3:18 PM UTC
I pity the flower who is chosen
her craftsmanship wasted
beauty nor skill will save her
if a human hand picks
it is not lucky to be chosen
Feb 12, 2021
Feb 12, 2021 at 3:07 PM UTC
Watching
people talk
of black holes in the place of souls,
complain of aches and mistakes ,
sing of break-ups and make-ups,
cry for lost chances and missed glances,
as if it is a passion
I just sit
watching for signs of such talks
bubbling up from mine
Feb 11, 2021
Feb 11, 2021 at 4:28 PM UTC