Posted in Black & Proud, sad, words

Missing locks

I remember my grandmothers words
I remember the flow of th ancient tongue she spoke
Closing my eyes I feel the eyes of my ancestore brus my palms
I remember the fluency
I remember she told me to never forget.
My mother tongue still rolls off my tongue
My voice foreign to the generation tagging after me
My wors connect my soul to my past
Free and Promising
Young curious eyes watch us
Their confusion like fingers of a child looking in through a glass window
Their frowns cut my insides
They are of the same tree but branches of a different graft
Like locks missing their latches to slip into
The new generation that refused to learn their mother tongue
The Unfortunate whose parents refused to teach their mother tongue
They are the new models who missed the chance t greet their ancestors for their parents chose to shun their culture embracing the west.
My mother tongue is liquid in my mouth
Sauteed and seasoned
But I fear it’s begining to char
The remnants of a rich culture soon to become an after taste and be spat out
A filter is slowly funnelling my uniqueness into a box to be forgotten on the shelf.

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Everyone's life view prism is different.

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