She wouldn't, couldn't give her name,
but they still took her in when she called.
I visited, adopted her,
though she must have been in her twenties.

We called her Monica. It seemed to fit.
She never spoke, sitting at her half opened window,
sampling a sliver of the fraught stree air.
I don't think she could take any more of the real world.

She stayed there safe in her dull, blue walled retreat,
an observer, lacking a ticket of entry.
And when darkness fell, and the curtains were closed,
the house lights went up on her secret, inner theatre.

His voice was muffled

He rang,
I answered

Each word he said came with a crackle and the loss of a letter

To me, it didn't matter that I couldn't hear every word he said

To me, he spoke so I would I understand

And I did,
even through the distortion

And every time he spoke,
he meant 'I love you'

There are no words
to describe what You were
what there wasn't
what You had
For words were Your first creation
sounds into a void at once brought into being
thoughts of neverending force
shot forth
in the absence of gravity
never to be taken back

Let's fall asleep under the same sky.
And wake up buried in each others treasures.

"I sense a feeling of sympathy"
"Why?"* He asked,
There she stood,
She felt as stiff as a rock,
Wordless, she was
Suddenly! Her mind was crowded,
Wordless, she was again
but, She had to reply and so
She spoke with a voice that wasn't hers
and a soul that wasn't hers
In a hurry, she said, "Situations in life"
"Like what?" He said with a blind smirk
"When your mother yells at you?"
He said, with the same
blind smirk and with
the same blind tone

She smiled, like always
and sighed in disagreement
She didn't know what to say,
crowded her mind was, again
wordless, she was, again
She was mistaken, She was mad

-Kaya

I wrote and I wrote and I wrote!
I stabbed the empty paper with
all the words that filled up my dry throat
I wrote and I wrote and I wrote!
till the nib grew old, bent and broke
O, I still wrote and I wrote and I wrote!
till my throat became as empty and white as the paper
I kept the paper to myself, I kept the words to myself
I swallowed it to feel whole,
but I choked, and I choked and I choked!
From then on, my presence was absent
nobody has ever heard my voice,
I couldn't and I never spoke!

- Kaya

It wasn't the words you spoke to me that got to me. It was the fact that you actually spoke it...

I spoke to the devil the other day
he said that people are all the same
he swore it wisent his fault that girls and boys sin
h asked why everything was blamed on him
I spoke to an angel last night
she looked at me as she cried
she spoke of God who she has never seen
She said the creation of man was obscene
the angel cried her brethren left her
is the devil wrong?
He was the only one who tried to make her feel better