Language

The curves of Spanish get me every time

like white chiffon lured off of a woman’s body by the wind

eloping, making cartweels in the air leaving blue

and orange chemtrails in its wake.

The edges of German do it to me too.

Its sheer history sits in my esophagus

asking me to remember. Stifled patriotism

is the flavor of the millenium.

Urdu lounges quietly sipping sherbet

reciting the poetry of the ancestors

wondering about the downfall

of the Mughal empire.

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