Words are the expressions of what we think, what we want to think and what we choose to be. The only similarity they have with human kind is that they too are mortal. They are born, they have a time of youth and often they die leaving behind a vestige of their civilization.
They played like an urchin
And changed the course of line.
I wonder, I gape and dance around
To look at the changes they made at mine.
Some gawk at me and few mock,
Else talk and play me a native song.
While I look for a new age word
They cringe to live for a little long.
They come, they live and often they die
Every age discovers to try
Words that put a life to thoughts
And seize the world with chronic knots.
A vintage world in books of dust
With lines having fiat to convey
No matter how fame it has
One day they all become cliche.
By: Sweta Rani