ghost words

when  a language dies

there is no funeral

the grief has no words

silent as a dead forest

memories unclaimed

like loss baggage

carrying home gone now

with the words to describe

the new sunrise

the look in a lovers eye

or the feeling of falling into

peace like a pillow in an ocean

when a language dies smiles are forgotten

and the color of the flowers needs

new words as do first born sons

and the time of year the corn comes

when language dies you lose

the center of a culture

untethering it to float

away out of knowing

into the forgotten

with clay pots

buried underneath what

has come to compress

erase

evaporate

what was when

there were words

About Ayodele Nzinga, MFA, PhD

I create; therefore I am.
This entry was posted in Poetry, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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