Words, flimsy toy trains of vaporous memories, 
play, why mark them, grade them, frame them,
garland them, right and wrong,
they are but alphabets twisted into shape 
by the heat of experiences, one too many,
and contextual their attire- pricking, berating, negating, soothing,
barely sufficient, seemingly efficient but mostly inefficient, 
with no beginning nor end.
But please, do listen, to the unsaid 
as I speak,
shut my face out, the daughter, the wife, the mother,
the other in me,
and now starts the listening,
to feel my love for you,
beyond the words 
feel its tremble in my gullet,
embrace its helpless rising in my eyes, 
watch out for this love for you, 
that doesn't see your face, heed your words,
watch it's instinctive stride through the trap door,
gracious in doubtlessness like a cat,
watch it authoritatively rest its head
in your faceless, formless presence, 
nothing gained, nothing lost,
just a waiting
in love.