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I would speak to you.

I really,

want to,

but I can’t.

My stubborn pride,

binds my tongue.

You know it too,

how hard it is,

so you understand.

And yet,

it’s just a faint shadow now.

Merely a stain,

on the ornate carpet,

the reason that

carved a trench in our hearts.

And now,

with cheap words,

it tries to replace,

the feelings we’ve lost.

But in vain,

it’s too late.

For our worn-out vows,

this speck of dust,

drives us into

an ancient bondage,

where our withering souls

ferment their rage.

Then silence,

like a suffocating mist,

descends,

and settles upon us.

And our features,

draped in the garb of pride,

are called to dance,

by anger.

Yet, there’s a word,

that, once spoken,

holds great power.

It could dispel

the silence of a thousand years,

it could mend all,

if we’d ask for it, for a lifetime,

but no one calls for it.

So only,

defiance and vanity,

mock us face to face,

hand in hand,

at that plot of ground,

where humility,

lies buried.

You would speak to me.

You really,

want to,

but you can’t.

Your ego won’t let you,

it chains your lips.

I know too,

how hard it is,

so I understand.