Some words are born under violent pressure,
The others - of their own accord,
But they create a subtle impression,
Of tearing a transparent cord;
Some words are born in the glory of love;
The others - in abyss of wrath;
No time of the world is ever enough,
To tell their us what is their worth;
Some words can measure the human life
And find it very light;
And crazy wisdoms shoot like rifles:
Even, quick and bright;
Without words you’re incomplete,
At least to some extent;
But they are brief, and never neat,
Like traces on the sand.