Commissioned

Someone told me I must write poems In the language of common meanings Like brown paper bags And the popped out eyes of children What are poems I asked The silence trickled into disgust Not because the dumb cannot speak But because I cannot make the mute to hear I pour me out in words First after being distilled to thoughts I would not play with these words lightly Each pourings leave less of me And when this poem is done I am no more That is why my meaning stay unique And uncomprehended as I am Sorry, I do not write that poem. madam I write change on permanent memories In the heart of the deaf he hears a fountain of melodies.