Words of sand
At the border with the desert, a flow of furious words Flutter with the wind, hissing through my ear, a blur Of consciousness, where meaning is sand, Where language does not allow to understand. These words of sand, reflects on the bleak sad ground Above which they hover, do not produce but sound, Laden with sadness. The dead forest has become a land Homogenous in color, yet deprived of its signifying brand. It is now to my eyes, my ears, my skin, like void, Ungraspable, unperceivable, words never enjoyed, Though feared. The sand forms then a cloud That covers the earth with a joyless drought. My land, my words haven't bared your precious skin, They have rather shown the true state you're in, One that must be taken care of, or soon 'Tis our fate to be buried under words of gloom.