WHERE THE INK SETTLES

Poetry.

For the things that stay, and the words that find their way out.

The Faceless Man

There's a deep resentment I hold - Against whom? I do not know, So, I close my eyes – To see the face of the person,

I vividly remember the day we met, Strangers in a small crowd, We got to talking, Me being a man who ran all his life,

“Verbum is sacred”, Your words still linger in my thoughts, You've taught me how words have power, Don't speak something you don't mean and cower.