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© [Our native linguists play with poetry] Butterfly selves

© [Our native linguists play with poetry] Butterfly selves

by our beloved Dide, our talented native in-house linguist


Outwardly a tool for communication, within, something different

Crusty shell battered by the sea, within, an iridescent pearl

Clichéd phrases passed around like salt, within, the unity of comprehension

Come now, metamorphose, the beautiful butterfly self of translation

Slowly, slowly, incubating, grow each strand of personality

To be braided to the bow, a schizophrenic symphony living in me

But of course it’s not the same, is it? For the potentiality of existence is broadened

Our role-playing does not vie for our soul, instead, whole worlds and cultures opened

How various activities enable various expression, so too, the Tetris games of grammar

Each coloured building block piling up, into a symbiotic skyscraper, a drummer

Leading the parade to the Tower of Babel, where conceptual development goes hand-in-hand

With language, each generating the other, like the quality of musicians in a band

Every one of them playing the same note, interpreted uniquely

Every language repeating the same thoughts, formulated inimitably

A kaleidoscopic present of expression, forking off into multiple directions

Retains within it, still, a remembrance of a shared past in its fluctuations

Each time a word is spoken, like a road once walked upon

Links us with our ancestors, the Queen’s Highway in times gone

And the evolution of languages holds, within it, too, such commonality of etymology

Remember, should we, this in our political prances, the lesson of linguistic anthropology

A stripping back of language to its essence, before the transformation of translation begins

Grit and sand combining, into a power that, no doubt, wins


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