London Poem: Day 102

27 November

In a lowly lit Turkish restaurant,
Three prongs branch off, and
Call themselves together.
Watching, from a distance,
Sight wanes, convincing enough,
That perhaps, there is nothing to see.
It’s the same with words –
Traveling distances too far
To grasp it all,
Instead, they sit in separate worlds
Believing they are beside each other.
They will wait
Until the world breaks apart
To know what distance is,
When words that travel
Know only so much strength
And die before being misheard.

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