Translate

Saturday, 4 October 2025

When the Rhyme Breaks

I held the page as though it were shame,

contained in metre, measured in its breath,

each syllable obedient to name

the old inheritance of love and death.


The rhyme was scaffold, strict, unbending steel,

a frame to bind the chaos of the mind,

and yet within that order—pressure, real,

a trembling urge to loosen, to unwind.


So words begin to stumble, break apart,

not fitting in the cages of the line,

the rhythm falters—

    I can’t keep

        this march of steps,

            the rhyme

                drops

                    away—

And now the voice runs ragged, spilling

    without map, without compass,

a river swollen past its banks,

    tearing down fences

        until only the raw current

remains.


Song version:

No comments:

Post a Comment