I play with words, I live through them,
I make them hurt, build them in frames,
which I crush, or they crush me.
They make me „hushhh“, they make me scream.
I’m born for words, to draw and twist
sometimes we flirt to devilish kiss,
sometimes they turn me into slave.
They give me thrones, they give me graves.
Some words I love, some words I fear,
and often kills me what’s the dearest
and sick word-spells make me reborn.
Words make me stay or make me wish I’m gone.
They turn me different every day
they turn the weakest into brave,
they turn the fallen into king.
They turn me mute when I’ve thought I’ll sing.
On hidden roads, I never know,
where few words can make me go.
But two words always sound the same,
and they are not „glory“or no „fame“,
no „love“, „“success“, no „sacred vows“,
but they always make me tremble. And proud.
They always make me who I am,
they keep me where I belong and stand.
Two words, that make me the only one.
Two words brighter than anything. My son!
author: Sabina Braycheva
Happy 3rd Birthday, my sweet boy!