When Language is Lost
A villanelle poem
Our mother tongue, left to quiver,
a constant, intolerable hum
a curated force, a dam through the river,
Sweet, forgotten language, precious as silver,
words held greater than the sum
our mother tongue, left to quiver,
You cry, I’ve adapted to the whims of the settler
native joy, now rare to come
a curated force, like a dam controlling the river,
Your words hold the din of a long-neglected lover
memories of a homeland left numb
our mother tongue, left to quiver,
They came and ripped away everything that once made her
they’ve had centuries to think us rather dumb
a curated force, a dam through the river,
In the silence left by the oppressor
I won’t think of our past, but rather drown myself in shame or rum
our mother tongue, left to quiver,
a curated force, a dam through the river.
About the Creator
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FPS: The Last Flame Challenge Winners
Welcome to our first Winners Announcement of the year and to the final challenge in the Fall Poetry Series. The Last Flame invited writers to sit with endings, using fire as a central image to consider what remains when something burns out: ash, warmth, memory, silence, or the faint promise of what comes next. The strongest pieces treated endings as gradual rather than sudden, allowing them to flicker, dim, and linger.
By Vocal Curation Team5 days ago in Resources
Comments (2)
Omgggg, this is sooo true! Idk why but younger generations these days are embarrassed to speak their mother tongue. Loved your poem!
Your use of the river/dam imagery is incredible. Beautifully written and deeply emotional.