“Better than a thousand hollow words, is one word that brings peace.” - Buddha
This week, Poets United has as its Midweek Motif the topic “word”. Words are the building blocks of our meaningful utterances. We speak them, write them, read them. They appear fleetingly electronically or acquire a more enduring presence when printed. Better still, words hand-written make the stuff of memories when the writer is a person beloved.
But words can be two-faced: Smiling or menacing, serene or agitated, calm or angry, superficial or deep, nonsensical or full of substance. Words can be our hope, our solace, our comfort, our joy; but words (or the absence of the right words) can be our nemesis, words can cut sharper than razor, words can wound more deeply than a knife, can kill more surely than a bullet.
This week, Poets United has as its Midweek Motif the topic “word”. Words are the building blocks of our meaningful utterances. We speak them, write them, read them. They appear fleetingly electronically or acquire a more enduring presence when printed. Better still, words hand-written make the stuff of memories when the writer is a person beloved.
But words can be two-faced: Smiling or menacing, serene or agitated, calm or angry, superficial or deep, nonsensical or full of substance. Words can be our hope, our solace, our comfort, our joy; but words (or the absence of the right words) can be our nemesis, words can cut sharper than razor, words can wound more deeply than a knife, can kill more surely than a bullet.
Correspondence I
October 9th 1990
Waiting for your letter:
A promise of rain in the drought;
But why must so much die,
While waiting for the rain?
Waiting for your letter:
A promise of freedom to the prisoner
Who must learn to live
Alone with his thoughts in a locked cell.
Waiting for your letter:
A promise of hope to the betrayed
Who already knows that promises are hollow
And hope is an illusion.
“I’ll write...” you said, “I give you my word.”
And once again I dared to hope, that you write me that word,
Knowing full well of the falsity of smiles
And the despair of fruitless waiting.
Correspondence II
October 10th, 1990
Your “letter” awaited me
When I came home today...
It was as I expected it,
And a lot less...
Empty, cold, impersonal
Scribbled hastily on the post office counter.
Few frosty words,
A shallow wish of “...happiness to come...”
And not even a name, nor initial
Signed beneath, only a line quickly drawn
As if with the impatience,
The gladness of having completed
An unpleasant, onerous obligation...
October 9th 1990
Waiting for your letter:
A promise of rain in the drought;
But why must so much die,
While waiting for the rain?
Waiting for your letter:
A promise of freedom to the prisoner
Who must learn to live
Alone with his thoughts in a locked cell.
Waiting for your letter:
A promise of hope to the betrayed
Who already knows that promises are hollow
And hope is an illusion.
“I’ll write...” you said, “I give you my word.”
And once again I dared to hope, that you write me that word,
Knowing full well of the falsity of smiles
And the despair of fruitless waiting.
Correspondence II
October 10th, 1990
Your “letter” awaited me
When I came home today...
It was as I expected it,
And a lot less...
Empty, cold, impersonal
Scribbled hastily on the post office counter.
Few frosty words,
A shallow wish of “...happiness to come...”
And not even a name, nor initial
Signed beneath, only a line quickly drawn
As if with the impatience,
The gladness of having completed
An unpleasant, onerous obligation...
why must so much die,
ReplyDeleteWhile waiting for the rain?
... what a fabulous line full of hope and hopelessness...
This is beautiful work. I can feel your pain
ReplyDeleteA beautiful poem of hope against hope and the treacherous, 'frosty words'.
ReplyDeleteWhy must so much die, while waiting for rain? I feel the waiting, for that letter, then the disappointment at whst finally came. Such good writing, Nicholas.
ReplyDeleteWell captured! And very sad. I can feel the let down-though anticipated--and I can feel the haste.
ReplyDeleteThe power of words, the hollow ones, empty promises...all what a word or words can do; bring joy or sadness. Brilliant write, Nicholas.
ReplyDeleteSuch sad poems, especially the lines:
ReplyDelete'A promise of rain in the drought;
But why must so much die,
While waiting for the rain?'
and
'A promise of hope to the betrayed
Who already knows that promises are hollow
And hope is an illusion'.
This story is so full of emotion, sadness and truth. I love the first lines, and what follows is heartbreak that stems from the power of words, or the power of their abscence. Very good, strong writing.
ReplyDeleteAs I read this I could imagine this being ued at the start of a novel sucking the reader in with such impassioned words. Beautifully written.
ReplyDeleteAn emotional piece of writing. You can see promises dying like deflated balloons. Beautiful.
ReplyDeleteRaw emotion in this. Why must so much die? An anquished heart asks this. Not only in nature but in life, waiting for words to come.
ReplyDeleteA touching question...can feel the pain ...!!
ReplyDeleteEmotions skillfully captured in your words. Well done!
ReplyDeleteI can't read them without feeling bitter – having experienced what you so well describe.
ReplyDeleteOh yes I can identify with this one.I was older so I have no excuse. You were young and did not realise back then that so many have virtually nothing to give ( poor unfortunate creatures)... you are the lucky one who gives so much, enjoys so much, and shares so much. Now, how do you say....good for you in Greek:)
ReplyDelete