Language : A Failing Tree, A Fallen Tree

Language : A Failing Tree, A Fallen Tree

The tree will not fall where we expect.

But we, the apprentice of language steer the meanings

Row our boats in the storms.

The winds of difference blow over and delete, erase or substitute

The things of no substance, a vibrant mode

Of speech transcending differences.

The direction we steer in

And the direction of the wind;

Both out of the bounds of the pressure that builds

And we fight the winds and the instinct to steer, impose a will on a language we utter.

And it forever moves ahead of the meaning, refusing to be transfixed into a concept or a motif.

Language grows

Into a gigantic super power shedding the loads we make it carry

An unstoppable, gregarious force that must connect and bridge

The differences; the sinking vessel must carry

The giant spirit to the other shore of meaning

Before the substance flies away.

False dreams, empty visions, dawns that arise and turn into terror the language we speak and fail.

Boats come loaded with differences,

Having lost the moorings in the sea they called their friend

The land thy called their mother.

There is an untouched portion at the core,

A life that I cannot reach unless I wear surgical gloves.

Unbridged, lacking a connection, we are stripped of language that could scale the heights where the word difference and power hold no sway;

A distant dream, too remote to translate in a word.

The tree will not fall where we will it to fall.

Let us be out of the way when and where it may all.