Naturally, when the placenta is cut
The child is separated from mother
However this isn't the case with us
We are never separated from our mother
Only those who fed on surplus
Grow up, separated from mother
We grow up inheriting the sound of her pain
The sound which never reached the fate
Of a language on paper
Our handsome Bodhisattva taught us:
Not talking to one’s mother is a horrible form of
Alienation from our existence
Therefore we understood:
Mother tongue is essentially the sound
We inherit when inside her abdomen
Language is a just a suitable rendition
Of that sound
My grandfather had a hammer
My father had the steering wheel
I have a pen
But we have been writing the same language
The language of our mother
Missing from the history of our existence
