Everything can arise from a word you let slip by —
Hatred, sorrow, or mourning! And don't argue with me
That your friends are trustworthy, or that you speak quietly.
Listen closely to this:
In the privacy of your home, in slippers,
Behind closed doors, with no one to hear a whisper,
You say softly, in the ear of your closest friend,
Or even murmur to yourself, believing it will end
Right there, deep underground, thirty feet below —
A word of disdain about someone you know.
That word, which you believe unheard,
Spoken so low, in a place dim and obscure,
Escapes the moment it's uttered — it springs, leaps, and flies!
It’s out! It knows its path. It travels with strides,
With sturdy shoes, a walking stick in hand,
And, if needed, it grows wings to soar like an eagle.
It slips away; it flees — nothing can stop it now.
It crosses the quay, the square, and even the river somehow,
Navigating through a maze of streets and alleys.
It heads straight for the person you maligned.
It knows the number, the floor; it holds the key.
It climbs the stairs, opens the door, and enters freely.
It arrives, smirking, and stares them in the face,
Declaring, "Here I am! I come from so-and-so’s lips."
And it’s done.
You’ve made yourself a mortal enemy. "

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