Formed of nebulous, shifting thought
They traverse this half substantial space
Gather form and flesh in sound
And roll of my tongue with ease
Some stumble in their haste to leave
See the world with a stutter
One naughty one ,hangs by my lips
For a last swing
Before slipping out with a lisp
As they pass the gate of my lips
Mine no more
To paint their pictures
Sing their songs
Create their own nebulous births
In others
Leaving me clutching memories
And a sibilant sigh.
--shubha
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