poem

At the point when dusk dives and day says goodbye,

In the diminishing light, these murmurs force.

From lips to ears, through shadows they flutter,

However, reviled be the tongue, in case it rebel!

Goodness, deliver the envoy, the recorder of the day,

Who bears every one of the words that others deceive.

With plume plunged in ink from the well of the shrewd,

Be that as it may, gracious, how they vacillate with weak answers!

In parlor and bar, in lobbies and homes,

The message goes far, while setting wanders.

"Did they say 'trying,' or only 'decline'?

Implore, what affected this sign heavenly?"

Accordingly, the once basic discourse fills in bigness,

As murmurs change, similar to a story of resurrection.

From "We should join for tea" to "He's plotting an overthrow!"

The copyist stops, astounded, amidst this stew.

Oft comes the client, with contemplations in a spin,

A heart brimming with sentiments, or considerations that might throw.

"Convey my love, the profundity of my anguish,

In words that cover, and bring sweet help."

However which begins as a sentence, similar to a delicate stroke,

Could end as a speech — goodness, what a wreck!

For on the way, feelings are flipped completely around,

As the recorder's curious face goes to one loaded up with fear.

"Did you mean you love, or just require,

A group of people quick to light your craving?

For every transient expression secured in air,

Is splashed with the heaviness of our human undertaking."

So evening moves close, with its shroud of disarray,

In the midst of blending voices, a fantastic hallucination:

That the words we accept are the considerations we convey,

While tangled in punctuation, they turn and rot.

With espresso close by, the interpreter locks in,

Every syllable examined through history's pages.

"Addambulate delicately?" "To contemplate one's destiny?"

Such undertakings lay as weights, goodness, what savage destiny!

For among every one of the miracles of this verbal trade,

Is reality that, on occasion, the most straightforward is abnormal.

The heart longs for importance, the brain looks for the joke,

However what moves between, is an enigma unblessed.

In this way, dear writer of our social talk,

Be careful with the maze, that deceptive course.

For to intervene sentiments is both gift and revile,

A fragile storm — more regrettable, or maybe more terrible.

As the night disappears, creating shaded areas once more,

We contemplate the fortunes, the imprudence, the valid.

For while we might talk, and expect to associate,

It's not unexpected our gab that prompts imperfection.

So let us consider, as the sun delicately plunges,

The idea of discourse and the heaviness of our lips.

The couriers among us, both sincere and slight,

To catch our quintessence — a stupendous story.

Embrace the craziness, the humor, the predicament,

For in parody lies astuteness, concealed in light.

Also, as night waits, let chuckling reverberate,

For the specialty of conveying, in imprudence is found.

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