Of language, they say it's partitioned us all That Babel’s been lost to our dreams Yet speech was never what mortared its walls— The Tower is not as it seems
Throughout every culture, a placid expression Means freedom from panic and fear A well-furrowed brow signals excess of passion And usually follows a tear
Serenity voices our reason and truth Disgust is our language of hate Hyperbole, the diction of boyhood and youth Surprise, that of chance, and of fate
“The language of man has been broken,” they say, Splintered by region, religion and race Yet some may speak Kali, while others Malay But all can interpret a face.
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