In English,
with the same words,
“it couldn’t get better”,
I can say how good “it” is,
and, how very bad.
I recall what’s said of Chinese,
that it’s a language of inflection;
that saying the wrong thing is rife;
that opening your mouth
risks friendship and life;
that it’s sagacious to say not much,
to consider,
and to speak in the language of touch.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is why I love language, oral and tangible.