You want to pour your words on a canvas with brushes and hues,
or drain them down somewhere like tears blending with raindrops,
or sweat them out slam dunking the basket for hours…
but you don’t let out words in the shape of words… you are afraid the instant you write, speak or spit them out – those words – they will no more belong to you!
They sublimate -
into memories and brush you like soft breeze occasionally
into pieces of shattered glass hurting many-a-somebody
in moments of nonchalant silences, forewarning of cyclone, fiction, adrenaline, chances and choices……
Speak... And you don’t possess the patent of your expressions any longer;
but you can’t hoard them…
because you yearn for the rendezvous with epiphanies
and if you do pile them up,
you craft melancholies!
