I’ll never have enough words to paint Neither enough colours to speak The language of flowers the peak An intangible mountain many layers of voids/voices many shades of looks as only a blind face can describe. hold my hands when it ends hold my hands when it ends The limits of my limits—a boundary I’ll never reach each sound till the end Never touch these words that I send to the chords of your mind in a different ‘same way’. I’ll never say enough to make you laugh to make you deep I’ll never have enough legs to creep In your stem, in the steam of an extinguished dream. hold my hands when it ends hold my hands when it ends They say trees communicate through their roots their leaves don’t touch, Yet, when one root was poisoned, the forest was in pain. Collective bleeding running through our vein....
