Words ...Words...Words

On that twenty first stereotypical  night

you said nothing new,

Like that oily pillow 

some more lies again.

you kept  yourself half naked 

behind your words 

much repeated dialogues

of  drama,

some soliloque, some half uttered moans.

I sat by  the waters of GOMOTI

and cried or laughed

with disfigured face.

They were mistakes.

Yes, they were.

You heard  the cry as usually again,

 and again you said,

"Why do you laugh when you 

feel like  crying ?

WORDS....WORDS....WORDS