i heard the voice
of a man
i couldn’t see
who spoke a language
i couldn’t understand
who dreams a dream
of a life
returned or free
just a man
nation-less
with somewhere to be
i found a mirror lost
in a desert sand
time falling from my hands
i heard a man
who dares to speak
finger drawn words
and dirty window seasons
moon night wind
in a poet’s words
i heard in language free
reasons to bleed
reasons to believe
i heard the voice
of a man i could see
whispering tree
in a language
a man could understand
across a tree
of life, growing in a deep sand.
- w. jude aher
The vernacular language that I use
Slips into my writing also and can confuse
Those from other countries and regions
Sometimes my language is macabre
For I slaughter the English language
From the teachings of my upbringings;
And also from the family and associations
My language patterns have taken form.
I wish that the zephyr of higher learning
Could sweep across and saturate me
With a instant knowledge of a broader
Vocabulary and grammar so that writing
Would become an elogent and easy
Part of my life gracing me with flowery
Words that would bless each heart
That read my work consuming each morsel