Words, they tumble
From lips to thin air,
Fingertips to glowing screens,
Pen to paper.
Alien marks that form a symbol,
Each symbol strung like popcorn on Christmas Eve,
To form words,
That bring a soul to life
And connects it to another,
On a different frequency altogether,
Across the physics of space and time.
An instrument of intention
That has been used for as long as history that has been charted,
Preceded by legends that were preceded by myths,
To reveal or conceal
the cards dealt by their users
Or the ones that remain in hand,
Be it to serve the demise of a nation,
The glory of revolution,
The weavings of the hearts of lovers,
Or even self identification and preservation.
How did they ever cope before the birth of language?
How was it ever enough to look at a person and understand them?
Perhaps it was a simpler time before we were a people.
Where there were no moral, cultural and societal standards to stir conflict amongst fellow human beings.
Perhaps then, humans had nothing to hide themselves behind,
For there were no cellphones, fences or ideologies to make humans ignore each other,
or distance themselves from one another,
To put so much store by their differences and forget that they are of the same true race:
The human one.
One that started with
No boundaries and no segregation,
Now that which has many tongues,
That have forgotten their place,
in the greater scheme of the universe.
One that was connected still
With no pen or paper,
No glowing screens for our fingertips
No language to fill the air
No words to fall from our lips.