Cooker pot


We draw those words out of the closet , dusty , rusty , or torn
We lay them on lines , dark , light, passionate or sad.
We just have an urge to be heard
Sometimes we relate to each other Other times we get lost in translation
And the real meaning remain hidden in the cooker pot
Dose it matter what form , technique , style we use
still language a way of universal communication
Words are swards we may say
Words like water like air to that un seen muse
Birds sing for the joy of singing
Man speak to state a stand , hit Virgin shores of thoughts. Or bond
We draw those words out of the closet it might be under, above sized ,
It might be contemporary or stone age
Words born with man , grew with man gracefully they live beyond. Man

By Zara H. Mosa , © 2013, All rights reserved.