We bite our tongue several times,
But we are not scared to bring it out;
Into the pain or most scariest rhymes.
Hey! don’t embarrass us by what we quote
When our tongue bleed inside your coat.
Forgive us, we know we are utterly wrong
But your winter snow is our summer fog,
So we bite our tongue for it is cold
Deep down in us is a typical bone
Made of rural and cultural thorn.
Our ancetors speak through our blood
So we swim in the stream with that cord
That may not sound the way you want,
But – to our own hearing, we sound the same
It’s only when you talk, we see the shame-
In your face, but: this tongue is ours…
Whether we crawl or fly way to infinity;
The flight in us has that upper fright
And that is the core and ingredent
In our perculiar, enormous identity.