Saturday, June 11, 2011

A wounded word

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. 


  1. In which state of mind has this poem been written, if it is sorrow- then was it a sweet pain...or sad breath....?

  2. To baba
    Memories 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 darkness

  3. Baba, nice to read you. Perhaps an innocuous loneliness and solitary mongering haunts your soul(s)