I AM WORD
I will make pouring of words
Like a mourning for an only son
By the professional mourners,
For where reason fail madness may succeed.
I am word, I am the maker of words;
I eat word and words are the breath I take.
On my rhythms of words, beautiful virgins faint,
Words unveil my identity and leaves me naked.
I am word, I am the maker of rhymes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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