Words, you speak,
Are sounds escaping your lips.
They mean nothing.
Words that sounds different,
Accents of glamor, roughness, ice and warmth.
Each word lingers, carrying forward the accents of another world-
“a collection of words is a language”
Each language holds its own mother religion captive
Each language holds its own culture
Each language holds its own history
Each language holds me.
They mean nothing to me
Words are the threads of society,
The glue that holds it together
The thread that makes unmasked faces dance like puppets
Words are the command for the puppets
The one who speaks these words is the ultimate puppeteer.
The words you speak,
They mean nothing to me.