To pass
by the hand of wordlessness,
is to trace a nebulous place
of nowhere and everywhere we’ve known.

To slip,
into a hollow space
is to find ourselves caught in silence
so heavy the gravity held our feet.

At odds with ourselves
and dysfunctional
What you mean to say
turns sullen and contrite
and what was said
truncates infinity.

Still we manage a few syllables

We are fine without them
We are fine to pierce our skin
so that our senses could flow
like they ought to.

words © malai carrara 2013