The Wordist


                                             by Sain Sucha



Every night

When he reached his workshop

He locked all the doors and windows

And then went straight to his word-bushes

                                          Lexicono secretum


And there they were:

      Soft words, hard words, edged and rugged words

      Words that heal and words that harm

      Sweet words, bitter words, sour and acrid words

                                                sharp and noxious words



      He plucked a handful of those words

      Picked away all the hard, edged and nasty words

      From the soft and warm words

                                                he shaped lullabies and chants



      He took a handful from the middle

      Chose mellow, pretty and fragrant words

      Paired them and threaded them upon a love-string

                                                and created sonnets


At times

      Blew in painful memories and rancid thoughts

      Then the sharp words formed the shaft

      While he laid the toxic words on the tip

                                                and produced laments and elegies



      When the inner light came after dark spells

      With happy, joyful and glowing words

      Waltzing, jumping and dancing words

                                                he fashioned hymns and ballads


And then

      As the night opened its arms to the dawn

      He put back all the remaining words

      Hid his word-bushes and went to the Poem Square

                                                with his night-fresh produce




Sain Sucha