We all have several parts to play,
irrespective who authors the script.
In my mind I have so much to say,
words, babbles, surging feelings and wit.
Yet lines completed at high velocity
leave little room for real reciprocity.
Am I an actor or just an act?
what I speak, lines I recently read?
An impersonation or mere fact,
existence leaves many words unsaid.
Freedom requires generosity,
a soul lives off reciprocity.
But sometimes a word tantalising,
is a clause for two parts to connect.
Little sentences said mesmerizing,
open a road to life to perfect.
And loopholes of love's porosity
are sources of reciprocity.
So across the voids of time and space,
propagates a deep felt resonance.
Flowing heart to heart and face to face
't transforms life into love's encumbrance.
Shall we turn a passion's ferocity
into boundless reciprocity?
Sometimes it is just a single word,
left unattended maybe ov'rheard.
Sometimes it is just a little smile,
a moment of time shared for a while.
A restless drive to proximity,
testament to reciprocity.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well written. I liked your style so much that I just had to go see what else you had on here. This one sounded a lot like one I wrote called *Repartion* that I went and put it on line. Hope you read it. Believe it or not, I wrote that while reading the thesaurus. Adeline