Lesson 29
There’s a second sight that’s really blindnesswhich I possess as someone who straddles
between two tongues, though I favor one
more, the other, native, mother, still hangs
above what I like to think of as my language.
If language is a river, I am trapped
in its many tributaries, and obsessed
with charting it like a brown Indiana Jones
making my way up to the headwater,
and the mountains, to get to the source
from where it splintered. To find God
and ask them, why?
All because I have only one tongue
where two languages fight for survival.
Poetry by Sameen
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Written on 2024-11-04 at 18:01
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