A Different Language


© Lozan Yamolky

My hand is stretched out

signaling for you

to keep your distance.

Do not get close to me;

don’t make yourself too

comfortable around me;

there is no need to explain,

because it is very clear to me.

Just carry on with your life;

let me be,

because you and I

speak different languages.

I do not speak the language

you are fluent in

and you don’t understand mine.

Jewels and diamonds

don’t entice me;

beautiful dresses and hair pins

don’t lure me;

leather boots and pricey purses

don’t tempt me;

the fancy cars you drive

and your high-end address

fails to seduce me

because I don’t speak that language.

Your everyday entourage

and the courtiers encircling you,

makes me question…

how sincere,

how secure are you?

How lonely can one be

to only have friends with money,

or keep friends

who borrow and steal just to fit in with you?

Where is the honesty,

the friendship and the freedom in that?

I wonder what the price tag is

on silencing those who know your secret

and how much longer it will remain so.

Your display of the luxury

and comfort of this society,

with full access to anything,


anytime, repels me

    makes me question,

    is a human soul worth giving up

    for such temporary monetary things?


I don’t speak the language you speak

and you cannot understand mine.

You can’t speak my language

because I speak with love, not with ‘stuff’.

I speak the language

of the working poor,

the sick

and the sex slaves.

I speak the language

of the hostage aid-worker,

the orphaned war-child

and the lonely teenager.

I speak the language

of the neglected babies,

the working single mothers,

the isolated, mentally ill

and the addict overdosing,

alone in a darkened alley

behind a shiny skyscraper.

I speak the language

of the outcast truth teller,

the terminally ill

the hurting

and the refugees

being shoved,

pushed and humiliated.

I speak the language

of the ones wanting to live in peace

and those who want this world

to be a better place for all,

not just for the privileged few.

My language is easy:

it is free,

it is freeing

and it is easy to learn.

All you need is openness,

and a willing heart.

and a willing heart.


© Lozan Yamolky

From poetry book: Counting Waves

By: Silver Bow Publishing 2017
Photo by: Nasreen Pejvack

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