Between walls of silence
the words suffocate,
making it our duty to speak.
Words, sometimes dense like metal balls,
and if at all they move,
they go and tumble down a hill.
Rarely, sometimes like crystal balls, they hold and refract the single ray
into a spectrum of colors of the sky.
Sometimes when it rains on the sea,
they swing in ecstasy
like dolphins in the swirling tides.
Sometimes a fairy gives them wings,
and light as a feather loosened from her wing,
they float until tired and sleepy;
they fall on the earth and die.
The words which you left behind,
suddenly spring into sight
as I amble through the ways of life.
They break the husk, and leaves of grass
sway in the breeze of memory.
I hesitate to touch their green sun,
lest I destroy the kernel of the truth they hold.

Sushama Karnik (c)