Still bent on
calling it English
Just look at what
We have done with it
The same language
of which, so many
are now trying
To call their own
One such, that we
have done
Is to create new
words
While knowing that
there is nothing new
Under the English
Sun
We keep demonizing
that language,
With the addition
of mysteries
Making it, so much
more difficult,
to understand
A far cry from the
legendary language
That it truly is
Though born out of
confusion
It boasts legendary
attraction
A master of history
Turned into something
Many are able to twist
and turn
Even while they see
English
As now being a painful
language to learn
With words filled with
fire
Presently, for one to
speak English
he or she is expected,
to end up with tongues
that burn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
We do take the poetic liberty to craft what we feel are more descriptive words....When often the simple meaning would be more enjoyed if all could grasp them easily....but then again, there are so many ways to spill your soul. I love to discover new words for old feelings. PEACE