Last Talk

The talk concluded, but so much remained unsaid.
Mute voices remain, calling when it all over.
Singing to me, groaning sometimes,
Questioning, and not finding an answer.

I don’t know how to be a poet, my dear,
I don’t know how to be right.
But today, here I am,
Finding meaning in my rhyme,

Aha, that last talk, do you remember?
The one which was hostile, even in whisper?
It was the talk, talked, in only words,
Words which escaped, but weren’t mouthed.

It was a talk, its arena, a blank screen,
A talk in black and white, it was my very words, which had screamed,
Oh no, this just cannot be!
But it had concluded, and brown had turned the green.

It had remained glaring, for many seconds afterwards,
The screen, so black now, so luminiscent, the opposite,
Of the hollowness I had began to feel,
How is it that words ever assumed this potency?

Words were my best friends, with them I toyed,
They were my messengers, they were my swords,
But when mine own swords become pricing daggers,
Where do I turn, what choice do I have but to feel the burn?

My own words, spoken and unspoken,
Told me so many things, in every single verse,
But it was the lack of them, that had turned,
My paradise into living hell.

Now in this simmering cauldron,
Swim words, so many,
And yet, in wild abandon,
Unspoken in the growing agony.

2:13 am, 11th January, 2010.