The Word I Shaped

I found the flower-stamen of a letter.
A flake of stone and a pinch of earth too
became letters in my hand. And mixing them
with some drops of sweat and tear
I kneaded the dough into the shape of a word,
put into it the smell of my breath
and let go of it with the wave of my voice.

Deserting me the word became
a real wanderer. It now belongs to
wherever it goes. Whoever it stays with,
it becomes his/her. But sticks to nowhere.
Nowadays whenever I chance upon it,
it sounds very much different.
I don't know it well, though it knows me
thoroughly and gives me a call sometimes. But
its voice has changed. Keeps changing.

Once I asked -
'Why do you change and change, my word?'
It shot back - 'Strange!
Why don't you want to change?
do you think yourself God?
Pleasure is in change. In change are
the movement and life. Don't you know?'