Your Language

(Image Source: Google)

Your esoteric words tamed me,
A script fashioned like sketches
I couldn’t see, I couldn’t read
Like the blood of my womb,
Protean,
Giving shape to my emotion,
A prodigal epic.
I often leave blank verses
in between.

Distance jumps into the act–
The God, the Fate, the Destiny.
So I picked up the remnants
Of Lucifer.
I tell my eyes– “think!”
I start learning the unknown.
Alphabets I draw
Like the first word of the epic.
I become the bard
And the distance paints my character,
Dropped in a well of coins,
Thwarting, challenging–
My body is tied.
So, I help my mind escape,
Feeding it hopes,
Just lame hopes
Who know well how to swindle.

I make a mistake;
A diacritic misplaced;
Just like me– my resort,
The strangeness,
Where perhaps I shouldn’t be
There at all.
The distance laughs in satisfaction.

I close my eyes,
Scared to look at my own face.
Tears tearing my skin.
Bullets fired—
Yet I hear my heart breathing,
Taken over by someone.

Words stitching my torn body,
You know exactly
Where you need to penetrate.
I rest as you peruse,
And inject the saline of grammar.
The distance feeds on my pain.
But soon, I shall
Talk to you in your language;
In the journey of a repetitive ‘How long?’
I shall move a little bit closer
In your mother tongue.

#NaPoWriMo #day30;  #Poem 30

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