Sticking a foot at the door,
A story stands.
Not ready to come in.
Not ready to go away for good.
Life has been ajar this way.
The words that want to go out
Get caught in the wheez of
A bad cough.
The ones that wish to come in
Hitch to the juicy affairs of
The wind to fly away.
The roads always take long detours
Before reaching a place. Exhausted,
You ask 'What's the point?'
The many letters you wrote,
Invisible was the ink and
The one they were addressed to
Never believed in the silence
That could speak.