The dance of the words on those lips
reminds us of the strangeness of language
what remaines our own
when adorned and left our lips
seemed strange when I see only
moving lips creating a strange
kind of poetry
inviting into a world
till thus unknown
waiting to open its arms
yet strangely
yet with suspicion
but with a nauseousness
of a friend too
Suddenly I see myself
drowning in this chaos
where words are not mere words
and yet they are words
where contexts dont mean
and things appear
not in their images
nor in representations
but just by their
being in the world
When words are let loose
they acquire wings,
characters and
prejudices
that we owe to ourselves,
dreams to transcend our own
meanings.
Life dreams in this other
where the other is not me
and me in the other
always finds the other in me.
nice, I notice a change in language diction! This is more smooth and clear, and has its own taste! Let me read more, and I will try to respond from Morocco, with Moroccan air and muses!
ReplyDeleteLife dreams in this other
ReplyDeletewhere the other is not me
and me in the other
always finds the other in me
.... nicely captured intricacy.. we are all different yet same..
Hi Manohar Dear Man,
ReplyDeleteThis is a lovely piece...more so, since i feel that you have grown as a poet...the poem flows so nicely and really captures the essence of listening and being in the midst of people speaking a language you don't get... I imagine Bobby's mom speaking pure Punjabi to me and sometimes all i get is a sense of moving lips. Or stand in the metro, near a girl loudly talking in Bengali and my phone rings and I answer in Malayali and there is such a profusion of words colliding...
Was such a pleasure to read
I meant 'Malayalam' :)
ReplyDelete