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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