Poetry

Lata Sings a Love Song

 

 

 

 

 

 

I should have kept it –

the tongue I grew up with,

the language of my mother

and her mother before her

 

Not so much for my own sake

as for my daughter’s, and

for the sake of the songs

I carried with me when we left

 

All else may be passed on

in a foreign tongue;

the stories, the memories, but

the songs won’t stand the tampering,

the tweaking, the translating

 

Listen to this one, I say

Isn’t it beautiful?

Glancing at her sideways,

one eye on the road,

my voice hopeful

 

They all sound the same

she says, tossing it aside

We are quiet then

for the rest of the ride

 

while in the background

Lata sings a love song 

 


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