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The Word

April 26, 2015

Latest poem published in "Lights out", the first and last book by the best London poetry night "Until the lights go out", or as we all know it, UTLGO.  It is, of course, a poem on my favourite subject:  words

 

 

The Word

 

 

 

I have looked for a word, a single word,

 

among so many words, in a

 

book, a thousand books, 

 

in a speech, a hundred speeches,

 

knowing that in my case

 

there is only that word and nothing else, and 

 

to find that word I will have to look for it 

all of my life… 

 

 

 

it is a word

 

meant solely for me because

 

there is a word for each one of us, in each one

 

of us, mine

 

will be as mild as a cloud, it will shine timidly like the moon, it will have

 

the persistent humming of waves and the colours of

 

Spring, the rhythm of spheres, the shape 

 

of a memory long lost…

 

 

 

and I must find it, yes,

 

I must find it,

 

among those thousands of words 

that I hear and 

read

 

each day,

 

for everything

 

is at stake in that single word…

 

 

 

I am sure that I will see it one day

 

in the middle of a sentence, in the virtual 

language that I

 

deposit with an absurd sense of 

confidence into

 

a machine, in the silence of libraries, in

 

the daily newspaper, on the lips

 

of those I have yet to meet…

 

 

 

yes, that word

 

might be mislaid in a classroom, exiled in a pub, 

forgotten

 

on a bench in the park, neglected 

in an office, mistreated 

in a relationship,

 

abandoned 

on a bus…

 

 

 

and it could be that

 

I will find that word

 

handwritten on the margins of 

a book, in the middle

 

of a public square, on the tip 

of the tongue of

 

a child learning to speak, floating in the air that my beloved 

 

breathes in or out... 

 

a word as yet unpronounced

by holy men, shushed

 

by those who refrain 

from sharing their opinions, muffled

by those who have

 

no opinion, guessed at by those who are not 

aware that they can have 

an opinion…

 

 

 

and I would hope, yes, I would hope

 

that it is a word written

 

in golden characters, sculpted 

in marble or

 

ebony, taken from 

ancient scriptures, carved on the walls of a temple 

 

or palace, sung by the 

initiated or entranced…

 

 

 

but then, yes, but then

 

it may have been scribbled in a cave 

or traced on the sand, it may have been

 

reduced 

to ash and cinders, even badly 

spelt and 

mispronounced, perhaps 

 

 

discarded as meaningless or worse... 

 

as yet it will be one more word amongst 

so very many 

words, part

 

of an epitaph 

or a goodbye, possibly

 

not even 

worthy

 

of being voiced …

 

 

 

and, yes, and that is the one 

word that 

 

might save me, like

 

the promise of love, an oath, as 

in the name

 

of a newborn, as the last 

word a person might utter,

that word…

 

 

yes, that word is the word

 

that belongs to me, that word and no 

other word, yes,

and when I finally find it, yes, when 

 

I finally find it whenever that may be, wherever it may happen, then 

that word will take my place and then, yes, it

 

will begin its very own search for the word that is meant

 

solely for it, yes, the word meant solely for me…

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