Language. What a beautiful thing.
The English language with all of its silent letters
Complex ins and outs that drive people batty
Born of German, French aunt
The fingerprint of man’s migration and time
All can be read if one looks deep enough.
Ah, root words.
I’ll tell you a secret:
There is a magical source of language.
It goes back to Latin
And then it goes further yet
Indo-European, and further
To the hazy histories of the beginning of humanity
Some say we sang before we spoke.
We sing to our children
We speak with our hands
But we are not the only ones
Who carry the magic of language.
Birds have complex conversations.
Animals are anything but mute
To the right kind of mind, they are as clear as words
A flick of the tail
Attentive ears belie a casual mein
But I digress; forgive my babbling tongue.
Some dream of uniting language
No. If we ever had one language
If our culture homogenized to that extent
We would lose precious perspective.
Some dream of preserving an ancient language.
This, too, is an effort in futility
Though a beautiful one.
Scholars will be scholars.
All it takes is for a group of people to live together for a while
And a new sublanguage is born
Every generation has its own phrases
Every locale its own accent.
Some fear the Internet
That it is changing our grammar
How could an emoticon be a word?
No one can spell anymore!
I love language unconditionally
Every new word or phrase is a delight
A paragon of brevity.
We are all human
Language is only a medium
A shortcut to another’s mind.
Maybe that is what makes it
So very beautiful.