Hi Friends,
My mind isn't always as glib as I'd like it to be, but every now and then, I get a nice trickle of thoughts that actually conveys what I'd like it to say. I haven't posted any paintings in a while, but I will soon! For now, I'd love to hear your thoughts on the next few poems I post.
This first poem is inspired by a National Geographic article on vanishing languages. One part of the article described a man who was literally the last speaker of his language.
http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2012/07/vanishing-languages/rymer-text
There was such an exquisite sadness to this thought, of being the only one left to speak your mother tongue, not to be able to communicate in the language you learned the world in. Thus, this poem:
My mind isn't always as glib as I'd like it to be, but every now and then, I get a nice trickle of thoughts that actually conveys what I'd like it to say. I haven't posted any paintings in a while, but I will soon! For now, I'd love to hear your thoughts on the next few poems I post.
This first poem is inspired by a National Geographic article on vanishing languages. One part of the article described a man who was literally the last speaker of his language.
http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2012/07/vanishing-languages/rymer-text
There was such an exquisite sadness to this thought, of being the only one left to speak your mother tongue, not to be able to communicate in the language you learned the world in. Thus, this poem:
~Last Speaker of My Language~
It is far too quiet now
In my prairie home
I wander between hand-built houses
Remembering the laughter of so many lives.
Little pursuits carry so much
Meaning in the bright sun of understanding, of common
language.
Now I sow fewer seeds into the earth, and
Light candles instead of a fire- just to sustain, only to
sustain.
Who can share a life buried
Under the burden of just one?
Where is the flock in a solo flight?
With whom to share, tell, love?
No range of mountains can echo my words
No running children will know my song
I speak to the wordless wind
Perhaps she can carry my voice (in her own hollow whisper)
Back into the time where
I heard the language of my soul upon the lips of my people
Lovely words that delighted my ears
Tied me to the earth where roots could grow
There is no translation for
This particular color rock
No Rosetta Stone to
Speak my particular kind of love
My language shaped me from clay
Infused my smiles and my tears
35 names for ice
96 words to describe devotion
And now only I know the words
For the particular kind of loneliness I feel
I float in silence above the dry yellow grass
In the air that ripples with heat, with change
Anew, each day, I must resort to whispers under my breath
Find my way alone.
Alone, alone I will die
Speaking the last word of my mother tongue
Into the uncomprehending
Anthills of civilization
~ Poonam Desai (12/2012)
Beautiful!
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