Language is the body
of inner thoughts, feelings
that remain invisible as spirit in my being,
wherein you discover
the strain of life, pungent pains
and a whole gamut of human emotions;

It smells of earth,
the soil of my nativity, of my
land and its people, the rustics. They’ve
become a part of higher Nature and Land; their
lives like legends, rites or habits have made
deep delicate imprints on my speech;

Struggles and trials,
heroic strength withstood;
wars and battles fought, as in the days of yore,
to defend a faith or defeat a foe
or even at times for women’s sake:
my language like history records them all;

A harvest in the prime
of season, challenging happy fields
of corn, cut and bundled up to thresh
when in my neighbourhoods, festivities start:
dancers rounded in pairs
the sacred spirits of corn invoke;

A song of love for joy,
melodious voice thus surpassing
fields now empty, after the gathering of grains:
tunes played on the strings of heart
flow in the vibrant rich language of soul,
O! Overlapping musical waves!