Language

panorama with grass, beautifully  arranged by the wind
image © daniel korzhonov

if after the unthinkable
language is the only thing that remains
what I am doing writing in this alien tongue,
entangled  deeper and deeper in sounds I can barely pronounce
closing myself into the sweetness of silence?

Why this necessity of turning my back to
the beauty of reciting my favorite poets by heart?

After the catastrophe... after the massacre
after the horror...
language might be the only thing that remains
but how to convey the unspeakable?
This pain without limits
this pain without body
this excess of words... telling telling telling
one....two... onehundred times the infinite grief

I turn my back
and run away from language...