Your death was the last breath of a language
Our language.
Now when we laugh, it is
In a foreign tongue.
Many of us have been rendered
Mute
Some of us hunt for words
To capture your peace.
But the script has changed;
We cannot read these signs yet,
And we’ve already forgotten
The way our mouths used to move.
.
We know we have lost our language
We sit on your green bamboo chair
Stare at the trees you had planned
And squint to see your smile
Dancing with the swaying branches
.
Sometimes we remember
A stray phrase
The edge of a word
Or a whole syllable.
And for a flash your face lights up
Again.
.
But who can we tell, of
Our flashes of happiness
When you took its language
Away with you, smiling
All the way?