Every word tells a story
A story that lives within me.
Every sound carries a breath
The breaths of those who came before me.
So many hopes, so many dreams
Float through my consciousness’ streams
As I ponder then pause then ponder again
And pick the proper words to pen.
For language is not a mere jumble of letters and sounds
It is where civilization and life itself abounds.
It is a crime to copy another writer’s words
The word for that crime is plagiarism, or so I’ve heard.
So would it be a crime too, then, if I lost my mother tongue
And depended on another to fill my thoughts and lungs?
Surely the history, the memories would feel betrayed
If I lost sight of their value and let them fade
For my identity and my language are one and the same
And if I forgot the latter then I’d forget the meaning of my own name.