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 



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, 



on a bench in the park, neglected 

in an office, mistreated 

in a relationship,



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



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 



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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