Native Language
In the silent spaces between words,
Where meaning often gets blurred,
I have wandered, weary and worn,
Translating my heart, feeling torn.
Searching for one who understands
The dialect of my unspoken lands,
Who reads the whispers between my lines
And knows the rhythm of my designs.
Not just hearing, but truly listening
To the language my soul is insisting,
Where every pause and trembling breath
Speaks volumes deeper than words can breadth.
May we meet—two spirits aligned
Where no translation is required, refined
In the pure communion of being seen
Completely, without a filter between.
Let love be honest and sincere
Of everything unspoken, pure and clear
A connection so deep and so true
That my soul speaks directly to you.
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