What are words
but the bastard children
of strangers’ tongues?
Like clay and mud, lending their form
to any hand that will mould them,
and do with them as they wish.
Listen to me now
These words or any other are
as much yours, as his or hers, or mine.
Each time lips encircle air, you
Breathe sound and life into them-
These comatose orphans that belong to us all.