What Good Are Words?

One of the ashes lands delicately on my arm,
light as a feather,
small as a mite, but
undoubtedly the most significant piece of life
I had ever crossed paths with.
Furious that this piece of ash
was the sole remnant I would be left
with which to remember the victim -
my victim
- I marveled at its shocking delicacy.
Formerly an unapologetic rock
of a woman,
this ash exposed her true,
vulnerable,
human nature - more so than any
combination of
expressions and
poetic phrases
in the English language.
This woman built a wall between her soul
and the rest of the world,
making it earthquake-,
tornado-,
hurricane-
and meteor strike-proof,
strengthening it with all the titanium known to man,
and equipping it with traps,
spears
and poison arrows
for any intrusive language;
the worst words,
the most hurtful tones and
the longest-winded attacks that forced up deep-dwelling
insecurities and traumas
could not make a single scratch in her wall.
Yet, one lick of a flame,
and the wall disintegrated
instantaneously
to make way for the primal emotions
and instincts that demanded to be heard.
Against the acid of the flame,
this wall may as well have been no more
than a sheet
of virgin skin,
burning,
tearing,
and boiling up into clouds of murky mist -
the reluctant escape of life before its end.
Her skin, that
had never felt the touch of fire,
bowed down,
surrendered,
to its undeniable power over her.
Because when the fire is only
touch,
and the ashes are only
tears,
and a human being, who emerged
from the womb, ashes streaming down their cheeks,
refuses to be burnt
by touch,
what good are words?
What good are the blocks
without which our society would have
crumbled
before being built,
that paste our thoughts
and tape our feelings
into little, strange pictures that
our ears
can see?
What good are these
words
when a woman, denied fire,
refused a spark,
and frozen to the core,
does not know,
does not accept,
does not feel
the touch
of her own ash?
Words may slice and stab
like knives,
but touch scorches,
burns,
sears,
and destroys
either to perfect an envied rare,
or turn flesh,
once tender,
to brick.