there are two ways of speaking.
the mother tongue of our nation of two.
we tell each other tales that all end the same,
myths of devotion,
made of words usually indistinct, incomprehensible
big cats purring
the syntax of lovers who love blindly.
the language of breathing.
spoken on my island with the rain forests
and yours with hills of pure white snow
to see you I cross the bridge blindfolded,
beneath the sea of silence
where the echoes of sound and meaning fade,
leaving two strangers
not even able to give each other names.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 9:19 AM UTC
there are two ways of speaking.
the mother tongue of our nation of two.
we tell each other tales that all end the same,
myths of devotion,
made of words usually indistinct, incomprehensible
big cats purring
the syntax of lovers who love blindly.
the language of breathing.
spoken on my island with the rain forests
and yours with hills of pure white snow
to see you I cross the bridge blindfolded,
beneath the sea of silence
where the echoes of sound and meaning fade,
leaving two strangers
not even able to give each other names.
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