Of languages. Where our
Emotions are untouched and
Undefined.
Life beyond four letters,
Livelihood beyond
The day-to-day stutter.
If there's a word for a
Yearning for a non-existent
Home, let's skip it.
And for the smell of rain
After touching scorched soil.
Let's forget it.
There must be some language
Of the world where,
They might not have confined
The meaning of love yet.
A longing that isn't limited
To mortal sensibilities.
Let's outgrow what we can
Speak and read and touch.
Let's outgrow what we can
Feel and express.
They say, beyond the shackles
Of logic and reasoning,
There's a marijuana field.
I'll roll for you, you roll for me.
We'll smoke up the earth to
Call it an apocalypse.