My language
is soft like the topsoil,
soft like a feather,
so soft it makes
silk jealous –
it slides comfortably
off my tongue –
it beckons to me –
a soothing balm
to wash off the burn
of English –
it wants to be heard –
it screams at me to speak it,
to let the whole world hear –
but when I do speak it
it comes out
as fluffy as a cloud
as if someone stuffed my mouth
with cotton wool –
as sweet and sticky as syrup
it sticks to my palate
and I surrender
to the sweetness –
My language –
as tender as a cloudburst,
as ephemeral as rain –
as slippery as fish scales –
you can’t catch it,
it will evade you