Unlettered Existence

Out of the womb to a life outside,

She lived her years unlettered.

Spoken words only made sense to her,

Not the written texts.

What would be the kind of complexity of this unlettered existence.

A city life she lived savagely,

Awestruck by the undeciphered street side banners and hoardings.

Wherever she went she could read no word,

Everything seemed disconnected and puzzled.

What she lost she knew,

What she gained remained a mystery.

The loss seemed gigantic,

But the gain was a true bliss of this unlettered existence.

The perplexities of literacy are myriad,

One never seem to gain enough of it.

It's a relentless endeavour to use the sense of the sight,

Triggering thoughts with every word read.

Creating a cobweb of innumerable letters.

The life then becomes perpetually entangled,

Unwinding, twisting apart, nothing helps.

The life ages to the times of death,

And still one feels cluttered, frettered and pressed.

Just rethinking this plain thought of what a bliss it would be to live an unlettered existence.