These words that I’m writing
are not really my own….
no word belongs to me just
for the sake of me knowing
it, speaking it, loving it
A word has a life of its own and
can evolve into a song,
or prose….
it can fly into the night,
never to return
or be placed in a bottle for
someone to find
on a distant shore….
These words are not my own
but I still speak it, form it
and mould it on my tongue
tasting the syllables as if
I can swallow it and be
satisfied that I can keep it.
For now, at least, these words
are at my table and I can
feast upon it.
My words are also not my own.Sometime it comes sometimes not.It happens whenever the master reckons..Good poetry
My Newly Found Friend Yuri, It's really sweet to taste the beautiful words that you have written in 'Feast of Words' It's quite a metaphorical description. My response in poetic rendition is 'Words are not merely letters coined together. They convey meanings and feelings. Words are Living Ideas - they move. They walk and dance to the rhythm of the musical beat. They creep into your wholeness-sipping down into your veins and arteries. I downloaded a copy of your poem. I hope it's OK with you. Thanks a lot.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Words yes have a life of their own and they just let us into their space and for a fleeting moment they keep us company and we may then tell the world they exist. a deep powerful poem indeed.