in a true relationship
a word is a bridge that can connect
two distant cities,
it will take just a syllable to get to know
each other and cling like vines
on the trellis and give a flower
to the passers-by,
others have destroyed many bridges
with just one word, the harshest thing that can
happen to
syllables, like
saying bye. And it ends there like
a shadow of the
western movie against the sun
and then the curtains
fall
and we all leave and carry with us
the story of
guilt and forgiveness....
on my own experience
the words are always bridges to old cities
and though rusty
they still hold the missing gaps
and the river or the
sea below
will always be hungry for some
morsels of lives
to fall
in my own world
no word destroys, no syllable cuts
an umbilical cord,
i place it there. In print.
and time is powerless to erase it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem