Once you were the voice of a mother,
Valiant proclamation of a lover.
Withered walls have forgotten words,
In their dwellings hang bloodied swords.
A solitary savage woman utters thy name,
Few are left to stem them.
Language you are a necessity still,
For linguistics to decipher buried civilization underneath.
Language, an expression of our will,
That changes according to times still.
Language, remembers her dying siblings,
Language that remains a mother as long we speak.
Language, uttered in times of sigh and pain;
Of untold griefs and solitary sorrows.
Language, the shape of our thoughts;
Without thou we are abstract beings.
Language, separates us from the rest;
Language that make us human beings.

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