Poetry

I have become slow

No i havent become old, it is not my age

I have become slow

My body drags like melted wax off an old mirror stand

If i look into the mirror i find that my words escape from eyes ears my skin

And i shudder scream scramble to snatch back my words from the wind

I cannot hold on to my words and i cannot make sentences

How will you understand me if i cannot say what i know is dancing in the front of my eyes

Here, my poetry dies.