In my own language
I could write you an epic poem to express my unique style of obsession
But to you it would just be noise, the ugly tone-deaf song of the English.
Words flow from your lips like pure honey
But never will I know what they taste like really
For in your language I am a bird with clipped wings
A ship with no sails
A pen empty of ink.
When you take out your guitar
Your fingers speak louder than language
Speaking harmony, making the sun rise and the clouds rain tears of joy
And I know just what you mean
So I take out my violin
And join the conversation.
Two wooden bodies,
Two silver sets of strings with voices
Really we speak the same language.
Image credits in order of appearance:
“World Map 1689” by en:Gerard van Schagen – This image is made up of six separate images downloaded from Helmink.com and stitched together.. Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons – https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:World_Map_1689.JPG#/media/File:World_Map_1689.JPG
By Pdpics (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons