Words hit you like swarming flies
On sticky hot summer afternoons.
And words fester under your skin
As wounds refusing to be healed.
At times they enter eyes like dust
Filling them with the salt of tears.
You gather words like sea-shells
To empty pocket and throw away.
Words grate like steel furniture
Being dragged on upstairs floor
Words fill tummy with nausea
Like the guts of a run over dog .
Words are just handful of dust.
A handful of dust is just words.