Belarusian Spring
Maryna Krazhova
The thirst is itchy
and my throat impaled with splinters
of subdued words.
Their tongues are neatly cut
by pleasure of affectedness.
The glitters
of modern flow are tearing them apart.
I do not want to drink the distilled water
of dictionaries that begrimed with dust
under the label ‘dying language’,
‘extinct grotto’,
‘the cry of rummage’, ‘the defective crust’.
I want my language to be heard and noticed,
to be revived with breath, saliva, rhythm
of Speakers.
Not the experts.
Not the prophets.
I need to sip some water from the spring.
and my throat impaled with splinters
of subdued words.
Their tongues are neatly cut
by pleasure of affectedness.
The glitters
of modern flow are tearing them apart.
I do not want to drink the distilled water
of dictionaries that begrimed with dust
under the label ‘dying language’,
‘extinct grotto’,
‘the cry of rummage’, ‘the defective crust’.
I want my language to be heard and noticed,
to be revived with breath, saliva, rhythm
of Speakers.
Not the experts.
Not the prophets.
I need to sip some water from the spring.
Maryna Krazhova is a Belarusian-born author from Boston, U.S. The majority of her poetry and short stories are written in her native language. As an AmeriCorps member, she serves refugees and immigrants at Massachusetts Immigrant and Refugee Advocacy Coalition and is interested in diversity, cultural issues, and the rights of ethnic minorities.
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