Absence

Strangers

to one another,

as if never having heard

the voice of each other,

we can even deny having seen
the dying whispers

drown in our veins

missing  without being missed

has killed our songs.

An alien  to myself now,

most of my earthly words

used to be free 

free and alive.

For years

they germinated inside me

I used to own them-

their noises and their sounds
Then you came along
reaping
their lyrics and their rhymes

now they are dead
unheard of

now all of them have died

and I’m silenced.