I picked a wounded word
built a home of meanings and
characters around it
stuffed it into half smoky muses
and weathered storms
of broken colours
Years passed, memory played its game
and remembrance took away its name.
perhaps its happy without me,
my tears, my love.
built a home of meanings and
characters around it
stuffed it into half smoky muses
and weathered storms
of broken colours
Years passed, memory played its game
and remembrance took away its name.
perhaps its happy without me,
my tears, my love.
In which state of mind has this poem been written, if it is sorrow- then was it a sweet pain...or sad breath....?
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ReplyDeleteMemories play a confusing role. They make u laugh when u remember the time u cried together. But make u cry when u remember the time u laughed together...
wounded word does have a meaning......in darkness
Baba, nice to read you. Perhaps an innocuous loneliness and solitary mongering haunts your soul(s)
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