Eating them up
With their moving dribble:
“Words are the only jewels I possess
Words are the only clothes that I wear
Words are the only food that sustain my life
Words are the only wealth I distribute among people.”
In my solitude I am a word,
A word that makes my fingers move
On the keyboard as a centipede moves
With a sensitive –detachment
Like a patient spider it weaves
Filaments of feelings together
Like a squirrel it has its own
Frail agility and timidity
Like a rhino it puts its horns
In water to test the poisonous
Content of the world around
Like a camel it traverses deserts
Like a snail it goes
And tiptoes on thorns
Like a bee it is honey-hectic
Like an iceberg it is deep- concealed
Only one-fourth visible to the eye
It invites the seer to take a dive into the sea
To see into its veiled mysteries
Of uniting pleasure with truth
Of blending delight with wisdom;
A distinct bird sitting on a bough
In front of my window tree
It is mysteriously silent
Celebrating its solitude.
