Some days poetry flows from the tounge:
A feeling that rushes over me.
Lips appointed to speak the sentiment
Of thoughts that touch their every second.

Some days my words dissolve into the voices of the crowd:
Superfluous thoughts
That drift towards their disappearance
Like tears that meld with the rain.

Some days I fight for words I cannot say.
Like a wintered city wrapped in silence,
Yearning for its morning life,
Stands empty in our sleep.

Some days I translate the silent langugage
Given by the future as it slips into the past
And leaves a trace in the words I speak
That barely point at what I feel.