Words’ changing attire.
Words always
not bright strokes
Of brushes of ebullient
painters,
Not splashes of retaliating waves
Or receding froth
dashing against
Pebbles or crabs
hiding .
I closely sat by,
saw hammering words
on the frittering pages,
him , hammering words
twining enjambments,
At times, words
are like
Modern double sided
saris,
words could mean a lot
behind the closed
eyes
of a saint. Yet they
are powered.
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