Poetry · Uncategorized

The Language of Love for Mohsen


The Language of Love for Mohsen

I speak the artless language—

the language I’ve come to resent,

for smothering articulate tongues

with simplified forms and content.

I speak the artless language–

how envious I’ve become

of rivers flowing through the mouths of lovers

and passing along their tongues .

How easily I have been led on.

I am victim of his inflection brushing lightly

like waves against my heart.

Desperately, I yearn to understand.

But I speak this artless language–

Drowning in his buttered voice,

I stretch my tongue in many directions

attempting to stay afloat.

I vowed to save his ways from my own

Although, he wants to learn.

I speak this heartless language–

the killer of ancient tongues!

What a waste of beautiful sounds.

His story has drowned, recycled by the ocean’s depths

into another form I’ll soon regret.

I speak a heartless language–

forcing it’s way through tightly sealed lips.

Shame on me for conforming

to this artless conqueror,

the killer of tradition,

the rapist of delicate art and beauty.

I speak the artless language–

Will time give back what I have lost?


3 thoughts on “The Language of Love for Mohsen

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