No language is my first,
poetry is my second
stab at life; the trickling beck
to get some attention. Hello!

No mind to call my own,
regurgitation of rotten wordlings
belittling the shoulders I fell from.
Goodbye!

No language is my first,
no language is my second,
I cannot stand, legs crushed
and arms flailing.

I am but letters without an alphabet,
a farmer without land,
a smith without …

& silence.