When she talks I have to strain to hear every word,

The English falls out with false intonations,

And the pronunciation is imprecise.

I hear her every word with care,

Like I’ve never heard her voice before.

That’s what it is like to be in love with a stranger,

Battling for understanding,

We dance together on the tip of two languages,

Trading barbs and curses,

And teaching each other the fundamentals of rudeness,

Which reign on two opposite sides of the world.

But in moments when the right word or thought,

Sways into the arena of our shared cognisance,

Before a scrutinising and hilariously critical crowd,

It becomes clear that the battle will continue to rage on,

Such is our shared joy of these moments,

You squint and think,

And I smile and wait with patience coming out by increments,

From the enlarged vat that, in a particular moment,

Has no bottom, no parameters, no end.


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