The fall-out

 

The page was too heavy
to carry the tongue up in the sky,
like it did before; slowly, it turned
brown, revisited, almost burnt,
relished, relegated into unrecognizable
pieces that posed, disguised,
camouflaged as different thoughts,
dogmas, beliefs; as different works.

Strange that these contemplations,
agonies, angsts, ecstasies, that
originated from the doubt-proof source,
from the charming abstraction,
did not have a word of piousness
in them; they weren’t even speaking
of any selfless leaders, healers who
mesmerized the dais with their followers.
These reflections were talking of politics,
businesses, sciences, and other visible,
foolproof, down-to-earth concrete things.

Yet, they were fragmented, like 
the original leaf that fell from
the endearing branch of a tree to
write about humanity, now ripped
into bits, the leaf scorched with
too much light and time, beyond
perspicuity. Now, it is dark; the letters
that sounded sweet and sublime, have
lost their innocence, their simplicity.

People still read, chant, recite the lines,
but innocuous feelings that were
affectionately embedded in words like
hello, dear cannot be paged. Now, they
screech, seem like forbidden fruits;
dangerous, poisonous; their warmth,
their friendliness has left; nevertheless,
they hover around the same words that
had, for long, lost their spell. How it
happened, perhaps stories can tell. The
page wanders on the ground, but it is
perpetually dwelling in hell.