Title: Borrowed Words
Language is inherited, not carried in the veins,
But living in the echoes that memory sustains.
It rests inside our voices, in stories left behind,
In moments of existence passed through the human mind.
Before we knew of borders, before we knew our names,
Before the world was divided and mapped into claims.
We spoke into silence, we shaped it into sound,
So pieces of our inner selves could finally be found.
Before words became symbols, before grammar became law,
Before silence became a remedy, before language had no flaw.
Language lived as instinct, unbroken and untamed,
A force that asked for nothing, a truth that never changed.
Before,
Language lived in me
Without permission.
It spoke without resistance, it never asked me why,
It rose into existence; it didn’t have to try.
I never feared its presence, I never feared its fall,
Because it was not something I had to reach for at all.
In Lahore, my words were effortless; they traveled without delay,
In laughter shared with strangers and conversations every day.
At home, at school, with friends I knew, my voice was free to roam,
For language was not something learned, it was something that felt like home.
Now,
Language pauses at the edge of my mouth,
waiting for courage.
Now, every word I speak must carefully take its place,
As though the sound of every syllable must prove my space.
Now, speaking is deliberate constructed piece by piece,
A quiet act of courage, a careful search for peace.
Now instinct has been traded for the measured choice of sound
And meaning drifts through shadows, harder to be found.
Where once our voices rose like breath into the air,
Now every word trembles, uncertain if its there.
Yet slowly I have come to see the truth inside this art:
Language is inherited, not carried in your veins,
But living in the voices of every life it gains.
On a planet full of voices, each different as they start,
Every accent tells a story; language itself is art.
Title: The Red Pen Effect
https://canva.link/8fl5sz3uo8gmbli
