Tongues

I have lost my tongue years ago
in a pool of those of my ancestors
out of hatred or kindness
The root has been burned,
withered, no longer to be traced
With a root like this, out of control,
or being fully in control –
the words are better off gone.
I'm not the figure of, parental embrace
rather a mere entity tied on the same net of strings
shared with the same tongue,
even if the minds are out of breath, breaking, banishing,
between the door I have to run away.
Before that open it and see
lying on the floor. Eyes, if they do tell the truth
See them. Fixed. Do not turn to the others. Other mine –
we take each other's tongue
make it stuck. Behind the teeth. Forever,
not the excuse again to –
Lick. Suck. Swirl. Kill. Wild and then silenced.
It's not mine. Not ours, us.
Culture. My cultures –
Home. The speakers from which I was born –
Words. Spoken. Written. Concrete or not –
Painstaking, condensed treasure, protected. Walls. Borders –
Terrified. I tremble. Lips moving on their own.
Touching. Un-touching, separated in unison –
"Must. Be free."
But this is not going to be heard.
Fragmented. No. No more.