These words that I’m writing
are not really my own….
no word belongs to me just
for the sake of me knowing
it, speaking it, loving it
A word has a life of its own and
can evolve into a song,
or prose….
it can fly into the night,
never to return
or be placed in a bottle for
someone to find
on a distant shore….
These words are not my own
but I still speak it, form it
and mould it on my tongue
tasting the syllables as if
I can swallow it and be
satisfied that I can keep it.
For now, at least, these words
are at my table and I can
feast upon it.
YURI DURAAN
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/feast-of-words-2/
