Once upon a time, I was born with a shriek

No words were exchanged, but everyone knew I was up.

They knew what I wanted.

They knew what I said despite my lack of words.

Days passed and I heard and heard.

Among those words were maa and papa.

I said and everyone smiled.

I said more and everyone wanted to hear more.

A, B, C, D and jumbled L, M, N, O, P

They smiled and listened; I knew they were proud of me.

Years passed and I heard more.

I said and wrote those words again and again

The more I spoke, the more they were proud.

All were getting to know me.

For years to come, words were my best friend

And the most formidable foe on those exam days.

I mouthed a few words and mumbled them.

I wrote some of those lines on white exam papers.

Others were lyrics from those favorite songs.

Still, I had people listening to me, but...

It was always a mystery to me when I lost them.

One day I found someone who I thought would listen to my heart.

But there was less to say and more to hear.

And even days came when I had nothing to hear.

And I waited silently for those words to come.

When I spoke, I was called a selfish brat.

Those words that had stayed in me had to find a way out.

Those words once colored some dreamy lines. 

They could build nations and make people feel love or pain.

They brought people together and gave life to someone.

But when my own life was at a standstill,

How could I give life to someone?

There was someone who used to listen to me.

More than the ones who gave me birth,

His ears were open to all that I had to say.

They called him my brother, but I called him my soul.

And one day, he was taken away from me. 

The so-called Lord played another dirty trick on me.

Everyone cried out to him, but I never could.

We had a special love-hate relationship, you see.

The day the trick was played, I came to know

I had no one to speak to and for the more tragic part,

I had none to listen to.

Those words boiled and bubbled in me.

And when it finds a way out, 

It always hurts someone, unknowingly of course.

The feeling of no one listening to me,

Or those moments when words don't have a meaning anymore.

The moment when I waited for them to hear me, 

It is death by our own words.

Once upon a time, unsaid words were the norm.

Jumbled and mumbled words had their own meaning.

Then everyone knew what it meant.

Then why would someone not understand now?

When now I have a million words to say,

Why would each word sound different to all?

When we have not even thought of some meaning,

Why would that word mean something else altogether?

Now I don't know why words matter anymore.

But I do understand what unsaid words mean better.