The Unseen Wounds of Words*
A silent blade, a poison dart,
A whispered curse, a broken heart.
No crimson flow, no outward scar,
Yet pain it brings, both near and far.
A careless phrase, a thoughtless jest,
Can pierce the soul, a cruel bequest.
A barbed remark, a cutting sneer,
Can leave a wound, year after year.
The mind, a battlefield, unseen,
Where words of war wage havoc keen.
Each hurtful word, a battle cry,
A battle fought, where spirits die.
So let us choose our words with care,
And plant the seeds of love and prayer.
For words can heal, as well as harm,
A gentle touch, a soothing balm.
Nimesh. N, Assistant Professor of Mathematics, Al Shifa College of Arts and Science, Kizhattoor, Perinthalmanna
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