Much shimmer or sheen
can roll or zoom
on the highway of the tongue,
words believed…
But life doesn’t lend its light
on the highway of the tongue…
Life listens carefully
to the shadowy or subtle stirrings
within the heart…
The tongue may speak of goodness –
yet a good woman or man
seldom brushes by the speaker
or brushes by
invisible.
Life listens to the heart –
and brings instead,
repeatedly,
an abusive woman or man…
The tongue may speak of beauty –
what glories can glaze the tongue!
Yet life listens, ushering in
a string of cacti,
a stretch of desert
or succession of shadows
that draw one deeper
into the valley…
The tongue may speak of excellence.
A writer-to-be may speak of excellence –
yet draws flatterers, sycophants only.
A master writer is invisible
or stays away
or remains silent…
The young writer’s clinging
to comforting habits and praise
keeps the master away…
The tongue may speak of love –
while the heart mutters of
love to be received
much more than given…
Life listens carefully to the heart –
and love, too, stays away,
the speaker playing the part of a ping-pong ball
between Dissatisfaction and Pleasure…
Life listens carefully to the heart;
life smells only too well the gap
between words and what is so…
Where comfort-clinging and self-deception
run deep and wide,
you’ll be submerged in unreality,
life’s wealth denied.
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