Poem by Marc Aupiais
Bonjour Monsieur, Comment-allez vous
Je dis,
Yet he is British, and he will not reply, while he does understand,
Even adore the language.
J'adore parler francais.
He looks at me with a vague disdain.
Goiedag ek het gese.
I said it to a Zulu man,
And likewise the Afrikaner refused,
My kindly worded:
How are you!
Broken in death at Babylon,
Language holds us apart,
Held us together!
How can we another comprehend,
When everything his blood is,
We softly can well despise!
Death beseech me,
She told me not to fear!
She said language,
Is one of many ways to speak,
Not all require the use of human ears!
She swooped down on her blessed black wings,
As though softly calling me home!
The way we live here matters,
And it is our duty to live for Life!
She looked at me and spoke to me,
Of how language isn't life!
Of how we may not understand another-
Yet we can all understand the love of husband and wife!
C'est la vie- we are different, and that is life-
Yet some are chasms,
Others puddles,
Which of us is swimming, to lay a bridge to life!
Sometimes it is better not to understand,
But rather to despise-
Not our fellow but his galloping horse,
... which heads the dark not the light!
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