There are voices on the wind outside,

Calling to you in languages of origin,

Swept through antipodeal forests,

In sworls of atonal cries

Indecipherable utterances.

It is not the muffled


from another room,

Impersonal, unaddressed.

It is a distant relative twice removed

on a failing faint telephone line.

Or a woman that looks like your aunt,

Approaching you on the street for directions,

And you have to confess–

You’ve never learnt the mother tongue.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s